Li autres la citole mainne:  Towards a Reconstruction of the  Citole’s Performance Practice

mauricio molina

Popular literature provides important sources for understanding the cultural context in which luxury objects were regarded in early eighteenth century England. In this case the 'Ballad Upon a Gentleman's Sitting upon the Lady Weymouth's Cremona Fiddle' published in 1720, demonstrates how embedded ideas surrounding the value of these luxury objects had become within the broad ballad singing public. If you have a question relating to the content of this paper, or an enquiry about an instrument you either have or are looking for, please email me at: b e n j a m i n . h e b b e r t @ m u s i c . o x . a c . u k

'Cimbasso'. Term used in Italy since the early 19th century for various bass and double bass lip-reed aerophones. (1) A type of upright wooden serpent with a large flared bell of brass and between one and four keys. The instrument is peculiar to Italy, differing from the French basson russe in both bell shape and in the arrangement of keys. Its name may be derived from the abbreviated form of ‘corno in basso’ (‘c. in basso’); variants are encountered, such as simbasso, gimbasso, and even gibas. Produced by makers such as Magazari, Piana and Papalini, the wooden cimbasso replaced the serpent as the lowest member of the brass family in about 1816, making its first appearance at La Scala where it was noticed by Spohr. Paganini was perhaps the first composer to adopt the instrument, in his Violin Concerto no.1 in E♭ (1816); he was followed by many Italian composers, including Donizetti, Bellini and Giovani Pacini. It cannot be stated with certainty that these parts were always played on a true cimbasso; where the instrument was unavailable, the part could have been played on a keyed ophicleide, an instrument known to have been in use at this time despite its absence from contemporary Italian scores. The wooden cimbasso remained popular until at least the mid-1830s. (2) After about 1835 the term, like the term ‘ophicleide’ or ‘oficleide’, tended to be used generically to describe the lowest orchestral brass instruments, which were in a period of fast-developing innovation. The cimbasso required by Verdi in his earliest operas was probably a valved ophicleide, like those being made at the time by Apparuti and Uhlmann. In other orchestras the parts were actually played on euphonium- and tuba-like models, which Italian and Austrian makers usually called 'bombardoni'. This explains why Italian scores of the 1840s often exhibit the eccentric habit of naming a new instrument at the start of each section without making any change to the writing of the part in question (see the Appendix of the Italian version of the present paper). In 1845 Giuseppe Pelitti (1811–1865) invented the pelittone (patented in Austria in 1847), a contrabass tuba designed to supersede all existing low brass instruments in Italian orchestras; in 1851, he devised the even larger 'generale pelittone'. The fashion for ever-increasing bore size and sound was strongly opposed by Verdi in 1881 when he expressed his dissatisfaction with these huge instruments. (3) In 1881 G.C. Pelitti (1837–1905) created, at Verdi’s request, a new low brass instrument, the trombone basso Verdi. In spite of its ‘basso’ epithet, it was in fact a contrabass trombone pitched in B♭. Verdi scored for this instrument in his subsequent operas, Otello (1887) and Falstaff (1893); thereafter it was quickly adopted by almost all Italian orchestras (Prout, It. trans., 2/1901). It gradually became customary to perform all parts ever conceived for the cimbasso on the trombone basso Verdi, at least until the bass tuba was adopted in Italy during the 1920s. The dissemination of this trombone, which continued in occasional use in Italy into the late 20th century, obscured the history of the cimbasso before 1881 and affected the nature of the recent revival of the instrument: modern models are trombones frequently pitched in F rather than B♭ whereas in fact no instrument called a cimbasso was a trombone before 1881, neither was it ever pitched in F. .

In the realm of Portuguese organography several musical instruments have been surrounded by myths and ideological agendas, that has constricted a healthy flow of information. The so-called Portuguese guitar (GP) is one of those examples, involving fundamental questions of nationality and cultural sovereignty. From the beginning of the 20th century up until 1982, there was basically a single school of thought regarding the origin of the GP: the instrument evolved from the “English guittar” (EG) and there was no prior practice of it before the introduction of the British specimen in the 18th century. This notion started to be challenged by Pedro Caldeira Cabral in the early 1980s, proposing a continuous culture of the European cittern in Portugal since the 16th century. Later, Cabral comes up with the latinized expression “Cithara lusitanica” as the cultural paradigm, englobing all cittern practice in Portugal. Departing from a critical analysis of the literature since the early 20th century, I explore the works of prominent scholars and non-academics, pointing out fantasies, misleading messages and contradictions that have been cultivated by some, in detriment of useful knowledge. Disclosing new evidence obtained through archival and iconographic research, I refute the arguments against Cabral’s vision, that flourished at the beginning of the new millennium, and I demonstrate that the old theory of origin via EG is now a thing of the past. Then, I give an historical account of the cittern in Portugal, suggesting a probable Flemish connection and I identify a female cittern player from the late 16th century in Funchal, Madeira. The work is speckled with several specific case-studies, counterarguments, and organological/technical details, including a new interpretation of the 1795 method for “Guitarra” by António da Silva Leite and considerations regarding tunings and stringing of the Cithara lusitanica.

The British Museum Citole: New Perspectives Edited by James Robinson, Naomi Speakman and Kathryn BuehlerMcWilliams Published with the generous support of Sir John Fisher Foundation The Golsoncott Foundation Publishers The British Museum Great Russell Street London wc1b 3dg Series editor Sarah Faulks Distributors The British Museum Press 38 Russell Square London wc1b 3qq The British Museum Citole: New Perspectives Edited by James Robinson, Naomi Speakman and Kathryn Buehler-McWilliams isbn 978 086159 186 2 issn 1747 3640 © The Trustees of the British Museum 2015 Front cover: detail of the British Museum citole, c. 1280–1330, h. 61cm, w. 18.6cm, d. 14.7cm. British Museum, 1963,1002.1 Printed and bound in the UK by 4edge Ltd, Hockley Papers used by The British Museum Press are recyclable products made from wood grown in well-managed forests and other controlled sources. The manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin. All British Museum images illustrated in this book are © The Trustees of the British Museum. Further information about the Museum and its collection can be found at britishmuseum.org. Contents Introduction v Naomi Speakman Image Gallery of the British Museum Citole x Part 1: Medieval 1. The Decorative Sculpture of the British Museum Citole and its Visual Context 1 Phillip Lindley 2. ‘Alioquin Deiceret Hic Instrumentum Illud Multum Vulgare’: A Brief Overview of Citoles in Art and Literature c. 1200–1400 15 Alice C. Margerum 3. Love and Measure: The Courtly Associations of the Late Medieval Citole 39 Andrew Taylor 4. Citolers in the Household of the King of England 45 5. Heroes and Villains: The Medieval Guitarist and Modern Parallels 51 Richard Rastall Carey Fleiner Part 2: Elizabethan 6. The British Museum Citole as a 16th-century Violin: Context and Attribution 61 Benjamin Hebbert 7. Dudley’s Penance: The Gift of a Musical Instrument at Elizabeth’s Court 73 8. The British Museum Citole: Blurring Boundaries Between the Visual and the Aural and the Fine and Decorative Arts 79 Kathryn Buehler-McWilliams Ann Marie Glasscock Part 3: Technical and Performance 9. Strings and Theories of Stringing in the Times of the Citole and Early Cittern 84 10. Cytolle, Guiterne, Morache: A Revision of Terminology 93 John Koster Crawford Young 11. Li autres la citole mainne: Towards a 104 Reconstruction of the Citole’s Performance Practice Mauricio Molina Appendix A: A Musical Instrument Fit For a Queen: The Metamorphosis of a Medieval Citole 111 Philip Kevin, James Robinson, Susan La Niece, Caroline Cartwright and Chris Egerton Appendix B: 125 The British Museum Citole: An Organological Study Kathryn Buehler-McWilliams Glossary 142 Contributors 144 Bibliography 146 Index 152 iv | The British Museum Citole Introduction Naomi Speakman Since its irst known mention in Sir John Hawkins’s A General History of the Science and Practice of Music of 1776, the British Museum citole has been a source of interest and also confusion. Hawkins described it as a violin ‘of a very singular form…encumbered with a profusion of carving’ (Pl. 1),1 and in the centuries that followed this unique instrument has been called a violin, iddle, viol, gittern and inally citole, with some terms used interchangeably. As the only substantially extant instrument of its kind to survive from the Middle Ages, this citole has been collected by aristocracy and proudly displayed in a number of exhibitions prior to its acquisition by the British Museum in 1963. A brief introduction to the history of the citole will assist the reader in understanding the complex story of this particular instrument. The citole is a plucked stringed instrument used in Europe in the 13th and 14th centuries, which was held by means of the thumbhole in its short neck.2 The British Museum citole dates from the early 14th century, a dating that will be discussed within this volume.3 Made of boxwood, the instrument is playfully and delicately carved with dense woodland scenes reminiscent of medieval marginalia, the iconography of which will also be analysed in the following chapters. The citole however has not survived in its original state and in the late 16th century it was transformed into a violin. It has since been linked to Queen Elizabeth I and her favourite Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, due to the addition of the arms of Elizabeth and Leicester on an inserted silver plate as well as the engraved initials and year ‘IP 1578’. While the whereabouts of the British Museum citole for the irst 450 years of its life remain uncertain, we can follow its trail fairly completely from the late 18th century. From the accounts of music historians John Hawkins and Charles Burney, we learn that it was sold at the auction of the late Duke of Dorset’s efects which followed his death in 1769 and was displayed in the music shop of Robert Bremner.4 A notice in the Morning Chronicle of 3 June 1803 records that it had been part of the music collection of the Hon. Smith Barry and was now available for sale again. Finally, in 1806 it is recorded in an inventory of Warwick Castle where it stayed within family ownership until it was acquired by the British Museum in 1963.5 Interest in the citole as an instrument of Elizabeth I, the ‘Virgin Queen’, remained high and the loan registers of the South Kensington Museum (now the Victoria and Albert Plate 1 Engraving of the citole, published by Sir John Hawkins in A General History of the Science and Practice of Music, London, 1776 Introduction | v Plate 2 Late 19th-century engraving of the citole hanging in Warwick castle which dates the instrument to 1578 (by kind permission of Warwick Castle) Museum) note that it was received on loan from the Earl of Warwick on 7 July 1865 (Pl. 2). The citole remained in South Kensington for 24 years until 23 December 1889, when it was lent to the ‘Exhibition of the Royal House of Tudor’ held at New Gallery, London, from where it appears to have returned to Warwick Castle.6 Whilst at the South Kensington Museum the citole was photographed for the irst time, an electrotype was made in 18697 and the instrument was displayed in their ‘Special Exhibition of Ancient Musical Instruments’ in 1872. In the exhibition catalogue the error surrounding its date is clearly expressed. It is accorded a date of 1578 and the maker is hesitantly suggested as J. Pemberton, but the earlier style of the carving is acknowledged and the entry concludes that ‘the violin may therefore be a reconstruction of an older instrument of the violin kind’.8 Subsequent exhibition catalogues of the New Gallery (1890) and the ‘Music Loan Exhibition’, coordinated by the Worshipful Company of Musicians and held at Fishmongers’ Hall (1904), both echo the South Kensington text.9 Plate 3 Rupert Bruce-Mitford examining the citole, The Times, 19 December 1963 vi | The British Museum Citole The instrument was evidently held in high regard: it was described in 1903 by the Countess of Warwick as ‘Queen Elizabeth’s Viol’ and at the opening of the 1904 exhibition at Fishmongers’ Hall attended by Edward VII and Queen Alexandra, ‘their royal highnesses were especially charmed with…the artistically carved Violin presented by Queen Elizabeth to Earl Leicester’.10 In 1910 the eminent musicologist Canon Francis Galpin inally identiied the medieval origins of the instrument, describing it as a ‘gittern’ and thus creating the title by which it was known for much of the 20th century: ‘The Warwick Castle Gittern’. 11 Even after this redeinition, however, the citole continued to be displayed in its Elizabethan context. In 1935 the instrument was lent to Eastbury Manor, Barking, at their inaugural exhibition to launch the opening of the museum. In keeping with the date of the Manor the curator proposed an exhibition on ‘Queen Elizabeth and her court’ and notes that the Earl of Warwick held a particularly interesting collection on that topic.12 The paperwork for the loan refers to the citole as a ‘iddle’ or a ‘violin’ interchangeably.13 The Galpin Society exhibition of 1951 served to bring the Warwick Castle Gittern to wider public attention through its arrangement with the Arts Council of Great Britain, and when the citole returned to Warwick Castle it appears to have been displayed in the Red Drawing Room in the mid-20th century.14 The object was formally acquired by the British Museum in October 1963 with inancial assistance from The Pilgrim Trust and the National Art Collections Fund. The then keeper of the department of British and Medieval Antiquities, Rupert Bruce-Mitford, was the driving force behind the acquisition (Pl. 3). Interestingly, it would appear that other parties were also very much in favour of the citole joining the British Museum rather than any other collection. A report by Bruce-Mitford to the Trustees of the British Museum on 11 July 1963 noted that the ‘seller is not interested in selling to any British Institution other than the British Museum’. Bruce-Mitford also notes the concern that the Victoria and Albert Museum might be interested in acquiring the citole. However the age and history of the piece was suicient for it to be classiied ‘as an antiquity in this category’ with the result that ‘the Director of the Victoria and Albert Museum… was good enough to say that, because of its uniqueness, early date, and character as an historical relic, he considered the gittern, “a British Museum object”’.15 Not everyone appreciated the unique importance of the instrument, however, and one dissenting letter to Bruce-Mitford from musicologist Robert Thurston Dart included the following comment: ‘the gittern is – from the craft historian’s point of view – a bit of a mess, isn’t it? 14th century origin: kicked around royal palaces for 250 years or so, until it was battered and had lost some of its ittings; found, as a white elephant, by that sagacious and unscrupulous woman, Eliz. I.’16 At the British Museum the citole has been displayed in three galleries. It irst appeared in the King Edward VII gallery, where it was displayed ‘on the middle shelf of case 11’. In the late 1970s a new gallery dedicated to the history of medieval Europe was developed, Room 42, and the citole was one of the three highlight objects which were accorded their own island case so that they could be seen up close and in the round (Pl. 4). The opening of the Sir Paul and Lady Ruddock Gallery of Medieval Europe in 2009 allowed the citole to be redisplayed again. Now it is exhibited thematically amongst objects relating to hunting and feasting in the Middle Ages. Today, the instrument continues to be recontextualised and most recently it was to be found in a new 16th-century setting, the Forest of Arden, for the 2012 British Museum exhibition ‘Shakespeare: Staging the World’. The essays within this volume represent a collective efort in recent years by academics, curators, conservators and scientists to reinterpret and fully understand this beguiling instrument. Presented at a conference held at the British Museum on 4 and 5 November 2010, ‘The British Museum Citole: New Perspectives’ was the irst international symposium on the object and fostered an interdisciplinary approach to understanding the citole. The following chapters take such a direction, analysing the instrument from its medieval and Elizabethan contexts in addition to an examination of its technical and performance practice. The invaluable work by the British Museum’s conservators and scientiic researchers is represented in an article from the British Museum Technical Research Bulletin published in 2008 which can be found reprinted here as Appendix A. The path to the 2010 conference was laid in 2003 when attendants to an informal seminar held jointly with the British Museum and London Metropolitan University agreed to use the term ‘citole’ in relation to the instrument. A 2005 conference hosted by the Schola Cantorum and Historisches Museum in Basel, ‘Citole, Guiterne, Chitarra saracebuca? “Peripheral” Plucked Instruments of the Middle Ages: Key Research Questions’, provided additional impetus for a holistic re-examination of how these instruments are deined and studied. The inal catalyst was the refurbishment of the British Museum’s medieval gallery, Plate 4 The citole on display in the old medieval gallery at the British Museum (Room 42) the Sir Paul and Lady Ruddock Gallery of Medieval Europe, which opened in March 2009 (Pl. 5). This provided the opportunity for extensive scientiic examination and conservation work which took place whilst it was not on public display. The irst section of this volume brings together the medieval history of the citole. Phillip Lindley and Alice Margerum provide a reanalysis of the British Museum citole itself and of the instrument type in general. Lindley opens with an art-historical analysis of the carved decoration on the instrument and re-examines the dating of the object, which has long been attributed to the early 14th century, and locates the maker in East Anglia. Margerum presents a broad study of the instrument type in a range of visual and textual sources covering a 200-year period. Focusing more speciically on the role that the citole held within courtly society, Andrew Taylor draws on poetry and romantic literature to examine what type of person may have played the citole and in what context, arguing that the citole may indeed have been a suitable instrument for a gentlewoman. Within this discussion of medieval performance Richard Rastall identiies citolers who worked in the households of the English kings Edward I, II and III through a thorough assessment of the inancial accounts. Finally Carey Fleiner draws a thread from the Middle Ages to the modern day by examining parallels between performers as ‘medieval guitarists’ and their reputation within society as being much like the rock stars of the 20th and 21st centuries. The 16th-century context of the citole and its role in Queen Elizabeth’s court is presented by Benjamin Hebbert Introduction | vii Plate 5 The Sir Paul and Lady Ruddock Gallery of Medieval Europe, British Museum (Room 40) and Kate Buehler-McWilliams. Hebbert discusses the additions made to the instrument in the 16th century to turn it into a violin. Hebbert places the violin-citole hybrid in the context of violin designs in the late 16th century and attributes the conversion to the Bassanos in London in 1578. McWilliams examines how the citole in its modiied form as a violin had an appropriate place at the Elizabethan court, how it may have functioned as a gift from Robert Dudley to Elizabeth and the signiicance of the date 1578. Finally Ann Glasscock examines the visual decoration of the citole and its role in providing pleasure, both visually and audibly, drawing comparison with other examples of 15th- and 16th-century instruments. The theme of the third section surrounds the technical and performance practice of the citole. John Koster addresses the technical elements of strings and theories of stringing. Koster takes as a particular focus the materials of strings in the period of the citole and cittern and a contemporaneous understanding of the physical laws of stringing. Crawford Young examines a question of terminology, asking whether the term ‘citole’ was applied in the Middle Ages to all variants of the instrument and the role that the thumbhole takes in the identiication of the citole. The inal paper by Mauricio Molina reconstructs the performance practice of the citole through an analysis of the performer’s technique, the acoustic environment of the music and descriptions in textual sources. Two appendices will prove invaluable to the reader. In addition to the British Museum Technical Research Bulletin 2008 study is an article by Kate Buehler-McWilliams from 2007 which considers the citole from an organological standpoint, and includes a detailed analysis of the piece in comparison to the electrotype held at the Victoria and Albert Museum. viii | The British Museum Citole In conclusion, this volume will address a range of aspects of the British Museum citole and, it is hoped, prompt further study and continued appreciation of this truly fascinating instrument. Acknowledgements The authors would like to thank the Sir John Fisher Foundation and the Golsoncott Foundation for their generous support of this book. For their generous contributions towards the original conference and adjacent events, without which this publication would not have been possible, the authors would also like to thank Dr John Rassweiler, The Galpin Society, Gamut Music, ‘Unproitable Instruments’ and Carved Strings. Thanks are due to the original organisers of the 2010 citole conference and adjacent events from which this publication has originated. These include Alice Margerum for her assistance with the conference, a concert by Mark Rimple, Mary Springfels and Shira Kammen and the organisers of the Study Day on the technology and craft of early stringed instruments hosted by the Institute of Musical Research. Thanks are also due to the speakers who contributed to the conference but whose papers are not contained within this volume: Mary Remnant, Mark Rimple, Dorota Popławska, Katherine Butler and Annett Richter. The editors would also like to express their gratitude to Lewis Jones at London Metropolitan University who was instrumental in pushing forward the debate surrounding the terminology of the citole. Colleagues at the Victoria and Albert Museum archives and Barking and Dagenham Archives and Local Studies Centre were very helpful in assisting the authors with their research. Thanks are also due to Philip Kevin, Susan La Niece, Caroline Cartwright and Chris Egerton for agreeing to the reproduction of their 2008 article as an appendix to this volume. Finally, the authors are indebted to Sarah Faulks for her skilful editing and her calm and encouraging management of the publication throughout. Notes 1 Hawkins 1776. 2 The often murky subject of what deines a citole will be discussed in this volume by Alice Margerum and Crawford Young. 3 See Phillip Lindley in this volume. 4 Hawkins 1776, 687; Burney 1776–89, vol. 3, 15. 5 For a full account of the terminology and provenance of the citole, see Appendix 1 in Buehler-McWilliams 2007 (reproduced in this volume in Appendix B on p. 137) and Kevin et al. 2008 (reproduced in this volume as Appendix A on pp. 111–24). 6 Victoria and Albert Museum archives, Loan Register MA/31/2, p. 453. The entry in this loan register also records that when the South Kensington Museum received the citole it was described as an ‘Ancient carved boxwood violin and case (2 pieces appear to be missing from head)’. On 19 February 1868 the museum also received from the Earl of Warwick, ‘A glass case with metal framework for the violin entered above’, which presumably was the means by which the instrument was displayed whilst at Warwick castle. 7 Victoria and Albert Museum inv. no. 1869-66. 8 Engel 1872, 20, no. 125. 9 Exhibition of the Royal House of Tudor 1890, 199, cat. no. 1001 and An Illustrated Catalogue of the Music Loan Exhibition 1909, 153. 10 Countess of Warwick 1903, 353. Papers relating to the 1904 ‘Music Loan Exhibition at Fishmongers’ Hall’ in London Metropolitan Archives at the Guildhall Library, CLC/L/ME/F/019. 11 Galpin 1910, 23. 12 Curator’s Report, 1 March 1935, BDP/P/1/1, Barking and Dagenham Archives and Local Studies Centre. 13 The citole is described as ‘one carved wooden iddle’ and ‘violin presented to Queen Elizabeth by Robert Dudley’ in ‘Loan Agreements for the Inaugural Exhibition at Eastbury Manor 1935–1936’, BD2/P/5/1, Barking and Dagenham Archives; ‘Papers on the Insurance of Exhibits at Barking Museum 1936’, BD2/P/5/7, Barking and Dagenham Archives; ‘Schedule and Papers in the Insurance of Exhibits at Barking Museum 1935– 1936’, BD2/P/5/6, Barking and Dagenham Archives. 14 Warwick Castle 1953, 35. The citole was also included in an exhibition at Jamestown, Virginia, in 1957; Warwickshire County Museum in 1964; and the Musée du Louvre, Paris, in 1967. 15 Trustees Reports, 1963 and object ile for 1963,1002.1, British Museum archives. 16 Letter to Bruce-Mitford, 21 January 1963, object ile for 1963,1002.1, British Museum archives. Introduction | ix Plate 6 General view of the British Museum citole, c. 1280–1330, h. 61cm, w. 18.6cm, d. 14.7cm. British Museum, 1963,1002.1 Plate 7 Right-hand side, general view of the citole Plate 8 Left-hand side, general view of the citole x | The British Museum Citole Plate 9 Back view of the citole Plate 10 Detail of the citole showing left side of neck with dragon, hunt scenes and thumbhole Introduction | xi Plate 11 Detail of the citole showing right side of neck with dragon, hunt scenes and thumbhole Plate 12 Detail of the citole showing the neck from behind, with dragon’s ear and mane and undercut vine of ivy xii | The British Museum Citole Plate 13 (left) End view of the citole from the top, showing dragon head, original peg holes (now plugged) and top of silver plate Plate 14 (below) Detail of the neck of the citole showing scaly dragon body, its tail terminating in foliage and rough tool marks where thumbhole has been enlarged Introduction | xiii Plate 15 Detail of the citole showing upper left side of the body with hunt scenes, swine herd and grotesques Plate 16 Detail of the citole showing mid-left side of the body with grotesque and hybrid archer xiv | The British Museum Citole Plate 17 Detail of the citole showing upper right side of the body with woodsman, animals and grotesque Plate 18 Detail of the citole showing mid-right side of the body with hybrid and wyvern Introduction | xv Plate 19 Detail of the citole showing lower left side of the body terminating in trefoil Plate 20 Detail of the citole showing lower right side of the body with bird in the narrow band of foliage xvi | The British Museum Citole Plate 21 End view of the citole showing the trefoil; the foremost end of the trefoil is a replacement Plate 22 Detail of the citole from above showing trefoil and lion’s head pin Plate 23 Detail of the citole from behind showing trefoil and silver washer reading ‘IP 1578’ Introduction | xvii Plate 24 Detail of the terminal decoration on the back of the citole: two goats, two lions and a grimacing face Plate 25 (left) X-radiograph through the side of the neck showing current pegs and pegbox, original citole peg holes (spaces aligned vertically in front of the dragon’s mouth), thickness of the dragon’s head and body and undercut ivy foliage along back of the neck Plate 26 (below) X-radiograph through the top of the neck revealing slenderness of the neck and upper latticework walls of the instrument xviii | The British Museum Citole Plate 27 X-radiograph through the top of the citole revealing the grace of its internal shape, even thickness of the back with a slightly thicker ridge down the centre, as well as details of the violin setup: bass bar, internal back, pins and repairs made to the soundboard Plate 28 X-radiograph through the side of the citole showing the internal false back (A) and excavated violin pegbox (B) Introduction | xix Chapter 1 The Decorative Sculpture of the British Museum Citole and its Visual Context Phillip Lindley Introduction The British Museum citole, an extrordinary survival from the Middle Ages, is a uniquely important cultural artefact. The fact that it is now the sole remaining example of its genre certainly does not mean that we should despair about locating it in the wider cultural context in which it was produced. On the contrary, it could be argued that the citole’s very uniqueness makes it even more important that we try to identify this background. As a contribution to this objective, I shall aim here to situate the instrument in its original visual context. A number of studies have already indicated that close comparisons for its superb decorative carvings can be found in English sculpture and manuscript illumination from the irst half of the 14th century.1 Such comparisons will help us determine the chronological parameters for the making of the citole and identify the geographical area within which the sculptor had his artistic formation. Or, to put it both less cautiously and more succinctly, they establish when the citole was produced and where its sculptor was trained and probably worked. Consideration of the instrument’s size, the way it was constructed and the character of its relief carvings supports the premise that a single individual, rather than two or more sculptors, was originally responsible for carving the whole instrument. The tapered body of the citole is shaped from a single piece of boxwood; the (partially restored) trefoil with which it terminates at the bottom end and both lanks of the double-shouldered instrument as it widens up to the deep neck with a hole for the performer’s thumb are carved in relief (Pl. 1).2 On the instrument’s back, the carving extends down the neck to culminate in a decorative terminal: the rest of the keeled back, which would have rested against the musician’s body, is left plain below this point, down to the reverse of the trefoil at the bottom, which is again carved with foliage. Each of the lateral shoulder panels, however, was carved from a separate piece of wood as an open-work relief, set against the interior wall of the citole, which was apparently gilded (Pls 5–6).3 Both the separately carved and fragile panels sufered damage, to which they are particularly vulnerable, when (or after) the electrotype copy was made in 1869.4 The extraordinary level of technical accomplishment exhibited by the citole’s carving proves that its sculptor was a highly skilled instrument maker (but it does not mean, of course, that he only made instruments, nor that he only worked in wood). Apart from the plain back, every original surface is carved with reliefs intended to delight and entertain the viewer (the soundboard and other elements which are later alterations to the instrument are excluded from my analysis and are discussed in other essays in this volume).5 The sheer density of virtuosic sculptural enrichment and undercutting highlights the citole’s status as one of the greatest surviving works of the ‘Decorated Style’, a stylistic term widely used to describe English art and architecture of the period from roughly 1250 to 1350.6 There is no need to look outside this country for its sculptor or production, given the very close comparisons which can be drawn with contemporary medieval English art. This was a period when the large majority of elite art production featured religious imagery, so the apparently secular nature The Decorative Sculpture of the British Museum Citole and its Visual Context | 1 Plate 1 Left-hand side, general view of the British Museum citole (1963,1002.1) of the citole’s reliefs makes it even more interesting and valuable to us. At the same time, we need to remember that the instrument’s cost would have been a fraction of that of precious metalwork, and that the modern hierarchy of arts, as well as the high value we attach to artistic innovation and stylistic individuality, difer from those of the early 14th century when the citole was made.7 Then, the cost of the medium from which art works were produced was much more signiicant than it is today.8 Nevertheless, the citole must always have been an unusually expensive and luxuriously treated instrument. It was, very probably, the most lavishly decorated citole its maker ever produced. The fact that it was so unusual may have been an important factor in its preservation at a time when citoles had fallen out of use.9 Formal disposition: the arrangements and subjects of the sculptured reliefs Before we can discuss the subject matter of the sculpted reliefs, we have irst to map where they are disposed across the citole’s three-dimensional surfaces. The instrument’s complex shape, the manner in which the sculptor subdivided its surfaces into separate but interlinked visual ields and the way he organized the decoration of these ields encourages – indeed, compels – changes of direction in ‘reading’ the sculpture. The carvings reward close visual scrutiny of the instrument and really demand that it be turned round and over by the viewer, to relish the sculptor’s humour and inventiveness. The tapered and undulating sides of the instrument are dynamically linked to one another as well as to the carving on the back by the way in which the head and neck has been carved and by the symmetry of the relief ields from one side of the instrument to the other. The majority of the individual reliefs on each side are carved with their bases parallel to the instrument’s back but, as we shall see, one on each side, placed under the ingerboard, is turned at right angles in the middle. There are numerous other features, for example the carving of the instrument’s head and the sculpture on the back of the instrument, which ensure that viewers cannot 2 | The British Museum Citole simply read the reliefs in a linear fashion: they must turn the citole in their hands.10 This presents substantial challenges to any attempt to describe the carving and any sequence chosen will only be one of a range of possible alternatives. The point is of more than trivial interest because our hypothesized reconstruction of the way the sculptor conceived the sculptural programme and of the methods he adopted to produce it will shape how we choose to describe the individual reliefs, and how we interpret the instrument’s overall decorative repertoire. The fact that description can never be entirely separated from analysis is particularly evident with this object. Accordingly, the way in which the reliefs are examined below, and my interpretation of their subject matter, presupposes a view of the sculptor’s intentions in carving them and of the way he expected them to be read by contemporary viewers.11 Let us irst view the citole resting on its back. What is here called the left-hand side indicates that with the instrument lying on its back, the dragon and thumbhole are to the left, the instrument sloping down to the trefoil terminal to the right. Both sides are given equal visual emphasis by the sculptor, with the carving ields paralleled symmetrically across the instrument: accordingly, I shall describe both sides, moving down from the head towards the trefoil terminal, working across the instrument from left to right, before conceptually turning it over, to look at the citole’s back. The sculptor carefully planned the disposition of the sculptures on the instrument to ensure that the decorative ields on both sides balanced one another visually, with reliefs featuring subjects of the same generic type, but enlivened by diferences in detail. The dominant feature at the head of the citole is a two-legged dragon, its head turned backwards, baring its sharp teeth, with pairs of larger canine fangs at either side (Pls 2, 4).12 It is shown biting the foliage which leads up to the later pegbox (Pl. 3): originally the citole had frontal pegs and two plugged holes can still be seen in the trail of foliage.13 The dragon thus both deines the head of the instrument and links the two sides together. The beast’s double-ridged nose has lared nostrils and its eyes are set with green glass in Plate 2 Detail of the citole showing left side with dragon and thumbhole Plate 3 Detail of the citole showing dragon biting foliage trail leading to plugged holes for frontal pegs a metal foil, under prominent, curved brows.14 The dragon’s long ears curl back across tufts of its mane: its upper body is covered with wool-like fur, rather than scales.15 This is a creature designed to surprise and fascinate the viewer, as too are the hybrid animals carved as reliefs on the citole’s sides.16 There is a small opening carved beneath the backwardturned head of the beast, accentuating its slender neck. On either side of the citole, three big clawed toes (the bottom one tufted with fur) emerge from beneath the beast’s large webbed wings, each section of which is carefully separated into several curved segments, the borders between them emphasized with little dots above each line of webbing with each web ending in a sharp claw-like point. Below the wings, the dragon’s body has become scaled, the small overlapping scales again deined with small dots. The body then disappears under a relief panel (to be described shortly) and can be read as having transformed into the foliage stalk which wraps back round the thumbhole opening (which has been rather crudely enlarged at a later point in the instrument’s history, removing some of the thick body/stalk and spoiling its efect) (see Introduction, Pl. 14).17 The stalk terminates in grapevine foliage, laid over the scaly body on either side. More grapevine foliage, with numerous bunches of grapes, sprouts from the stalk and covers most of the rest of the side panel ields up to the framing right-angled panels, which are shaped like a carpenter’s set-square, and delineated by dotted borders. These panels read as if they are laid over the neck panels. The ridge at the back of the instrument’s neck is carved with deeply undercut ivy foliage which runs up to the beast’s neck as if submerging it in foliage, before terminating below its head; the ivy overlaps the foliage at the base end of the right-angled reliefs and the grapevine in the neck ield round the thumbhole. On the back of the instrument, the foliage is pierced in an ostentatious display of carving and drilling technique, accentuated by the placing of a small owl carved to stand within it and a squirrel, climbing towards the ‘top’.18 The careful diferentiation of various leaf types is a characteristic of the citole’s reliefs. There is considerable visual play between the diferent ‘levels’ of carving, enhancing the sense that the sculpture is multi-layered. On both sides of the instrument, the right-angled panels demarcate the neck ield containing the thumbhole, the dragon and vine foliage. They show hunting scenes. Beneath the ingerboard, on the left-hand side of the neck, the action moves from left to right (i.e. from the head to the tail of the instrument) (Pl. 2). A bearded huntsman wearing a hood kneels to unleash a dog which faces towards him, whilst another hound, facing the opposite direction, bends its head to snif the scent. On the right of a large leaf, a second hooded huntsman, half kneeling, shoots his crossbow at a doe, separated from him by another piece of foliage, part of which overlaps the border. The deer is rather awkwardly placed on the corner of the angle and its fore legs are positioned in the right-angle itself, lower than the hind legs which overlap the border: this is one of many instances of The Decorative Sculpture of the British Museum Citole and its Visual Context | 3 Plate 4 Detail of the citole showing right side with dragon and thumbhole such overlapping. The other section of this relief reads from right (the back of the instrument) to left (up towards the ingerboard) and shows a bare-headed man, holding a staf and blowing an inverted hunting horn, whilst a stag, separated from him by foliage in which a bird is perched, trots towards the angle. One of the stag’s fore hooves is also carved on the border. The other side of the instrument (Pl. 4) has a scene in a matching set-square shape, the action this time running from right to left (i.e. again from head to tail of the instrument). A crouching rabbit hides behind foliage, in front of which is a partly kneeling man blowing an inverted horn, with a rabbit hung over his shoulder, and a pack of seven hounds in front of him on the other side of a piece of foliage. In the right-angled section, reading from the back of the citole, left to right, is another sprig of foliage and then a hooded, bearded man kneeling to unleash a hound, which has its forepaws up on a piece of foliage to the right, one leaf of which overlaps the border. On the other side of the foliage, a fox faces towards it, crouching as if hiding among the leaves. Here, then, the chase has moved round the central angle, with the fox heading towards the trap formed by the kneeling man with his dog, as it runs away from the group of hounds round the corner. One hound’s paws overlap the border as does one foot of the kneeling huntsman, as if the ield can barely contain the sculpture. The rest of the neck, inside the border, is covered with foliage of two types: vine foliage, with clusters of grapes in the main ields, and ivy which runs along the bulbous back ridge, overlapping the foliage of the ield and the end of the right-angled panels (this is the point, on the rear of the instrument, where it springs from a stalk and will be described shortly). In the grapevine foliage round the 4 | The British Museum Citole thumbhole on the left-hand side (Pl. 2) is a kneeling, long-haired man pulling a dagger, as if preparing to ight a two-legged hybrid creature with a beast’s head turned back across its body and wearing a short cloak; the hybrid appears to be leeing a goggle-eyed rabbit, behind it, separated from the hybrid by a sprig of foliage. There is quite a marked vertical division across the relief to the left of the hybrid beast, as if this was where a two-dimensional pattern ended and the sculptor then illed up the rest of the space with vine foliage and grapes. Towards the bottom of the whole ield, just above the ivy, is a bird leaning forwards pecking at a leaf. All four of these igurative elements are to be viewed with the citole turned at 90 degrees, as if resting on its head, just as one reads the section of the hunting scene, which moves from right to left. On the right-hand side of the citole, the area contains three rabbits, two seen from above (rather than in proile as is the norm elsewhere in the carving), a partially kneeling bearded and hooded man, his garment tied up at the waist, who is harvesting grapes, and a curledup dog also seen from above (Pl. 4).19 The citole has to be rotated before they can be seen properly, the diiculty of seeing them enhancing the viewers’ enjoyment when they are irst apprehended. In summary, diferent types of hunting scene – for deer as well as for a fox and rabbits – are shown in the right-angled panels, whilst the rest of the instrument’s neck features a bird and animals, a man harvesting grapes and a hybrid animal’s combat with a man, all set within foliage. Along the body, each side of the citole is separated into panels, culminating in the long narrow reliefs which occupy the particularly awkward shape down towards the trefoil terminal, separated from them by a small undecorated area. Plate 5 Detail of the citole showing lateral shoulder panel, left-hand side with man knocking down acorns for his three pigs The subdivided ields of decoration are delineated by ornamental borders. On each side, the visual movement of the relief subjects’ action is from the head towards the tail of the instrument; that is to say on the right-hand side of the citole they are sequenced from right to left, and on the other side vice versa. However, two of the reliefs have features turned at right angles, again intentionally inlecting the instrument’s viewing with a dynamic movement, before the subjects can be read. The irst panels after the right-angled reliefs just described are the latticework-carved inserts. That on the left (Pl. 5) shows a bare-legged peasant on the left-hand side of the panel, his head in proile, facing to the right, his hooded garment tied up at his waist and wearing a distinctive hat. He uses a long pole to knock disproportionately huge acorns down from an oak tree for his three pigs (also in proile), which face towards him: scale is employed artfully throughout the citole’s carving and a sprig of foliage can indicate a tree or merely some leaves. On the opposite side of the instrument, a man on the right hand side of the relief faces to the left, and with a huge axe cuts down a branch of an acorn-laden oak tree (Pl. 6): his head, a darker colour, appears to be have been replaced or reixed.20 In the upper branches, a large fox-like squirrel with bushy tail can be seen, partially concealed by the main tree trunk. The border on the right-hand side, where it adjoins the hunting scene, has a series of quatrefoil lowers, not the dots between lines found on the other side. This is one of two exceptions to the symmetrical disposition of borders across the citole’s sides but should not be taken to suggest that this panel is the work Plate 6 Detail of the citole showing lateral shoulder panel, right-hand side, man cutting down oak tree with axe of a second sculptor: the border is structurally integral not with this panel but with the hunting scene. This apparent inconsistency is in fact intentional variety, just as one frequently inds in ‘Decorated Style’ architecture. Next on both sides are three bands of decoration, covering the two protruding, rounded shoulders of the citole’s body and the space in between them. On the left-hand side (Pl. 7), these bands are separated by borders, irst of quatrefoil leurons; then of dots; followed by one of dots and leurons; and inally a border of leurons and dots. The irst decorative ield comprises hawthorn foliage with the leaves in bands positioned vertically, alternately downwards and upwards; the second has a curious hybrid with a bearded male head, a bat’s wing and another bearded head seen in proile on its rear, and with goat-like hooves, amongst mulberry foliage and berries. This decorative relief is turned at 90 degrees to those on the protruding shoulders lanking it, that is to say it has to be read vertically, from bottom to top of the instrument. The third band shows a dog on the left facing a hybrid two-legged deer with antlers on either side of a stalk with maple foliage above them. In the corresponding positions on the other side of the citole (Pl. 8), the irst panel, on the shoulder, is foliate, again with alternating bands of upwards and downwards-turned foliage; the border between it and the next panel has not been carved with dots although the other two borders correspond with those on the opposite side of the instrument. The second relief has at its base a hybrid with a dragon’s head with long pointed ears, turned over behind its body; it is placed amidst mulberry leaves, one of which overlaps the right hand border. Again, one can The Decorative Sculpture of the British Museum Citole and its Visual Context | 5 Plate 7 Detail of the citole, left-hand relief panels, with hybrid man shooting arrow at rabbit on the right of this plate rotate the instrument to read the second relief, although this hybrid can also be interpreted as recumbent with its head turned towards the ‘ground’. The third ield (Pl. 9) has a dog on the right facing a rabbit, underneath a hawthorn bush with leaves overlapping both animals’ heads. In the long, awkwardly shaped panels which narrow towards the base, on the left side (Pl. 7) a hybrid bare-headed man with the lower half of a clawed beast, turned at right angles to his upper half, has shot an arrow from his bow towards a wide-eyed rabbit. Foliage ills the rest of the section. On the opposite side of the citole (Pl. 8) is, on the right, a half-man, half-bird hybrid, with a tail that terminates in foliage, armed with a small shield and sword, and his hair covered in a tight bonnet ighting a long-eared, winged, two-legged dragon or wyvern, with a knot in its trilobe-end tail. Both this hybrid and that on the other side have their upper bodies turned at right angles to their lower halves, a distinctive feature of the sculptor’s work. The foliage to the left on the right-hand side has a bird sitting in it (Pl. 11). At the end of the citole is a trefoil-shaped terminal that has been restored, with foliage in each compartment, separated by a ictive ribbon in a saltire cross shape (Pl. 12). The sculpted reliefs of the British Museum citole – including the elements carved as separately delineated relief panels – are then, dominated by scenes showing hunts, hybrids, combats and animals, all set within foliate backgrounds, and panels of plain foliage, of very skilfully varied forms. The decoration of the sides of the body is disposed in ields which are efectively symmetrical from one side to another of the citole; the direction of the action, or low of the reliefs, moves from the instrument’s head to its tail but is frequently varied, and the decoration is carefully 6 | The British Museum Citole and cleverly extended onto the back of the citole (Pl. 10). This has, at the head end, ivy foliage submerging the dragon’s head, a tuft or two of its mane showing through. The ivy, which has some large berries, notionally sprouts from a stalk springing from a superb terminal comprising a pair of standing goats, one on either side of a trio of three seaweedy leaves, represented as continuing under their bodies. Below them is a pair of crouching lions, also roughly symmetrical in their arrangement, positioned above a grimacing, bearded male face, with a heavy brow: he pulls his left lower eyelid with a inger of his left hand and with his right pulls his mouth open. The lanking spaces on either side are illed with trios of the same type of leaves. The rest of the back is plain down to the reverse of the trefoil terminal. The foliage on the back of the trefoil is less undercut and complicated than that on the more easily visible upper face. How one views the citole’s overall decorative programme must shape the interpretation of the separately carved shoulder panels, which have been identiied as representing the ‘Labours of the Months’ for November and December as they appear in Psalter calendars. Manuscript representations of the Labours of the Months undoubtedly furnished the sculptor with his models, but in this context there is no reason to believe that the panels retained their speciic identiication with individual months for the sculptor, or for the ordinary 14th-century viewer, any more than that of the man harvesting grapes represented September to them. Instead, decontextualized, the panels have become generic, their subjects chosen by the sculptor because they could be readily assimilated into the overall decorative subject matter, in which inhabited foliate forms Plate 8 Detail showing right-hand side of citole Plate 9 Dog facing rabbit (detail of right-hand side) Plate 10 Detail of the back of the citole showing gurning man, paired lions and goats, terminal The Decorative Sculpture of the British Museum Citole and its Visual Context | 7 Plate 11 Detail of the right-hand side of citole showing bird in tree are predominant. The meaning of imagery depends on a variety of factors, one of the most important being the context in which it is located. Here, the instrument’s reliefs are all apparently secular in nature, yet some of the closest sculptural comparisons are to be found within ecclesiastical architectural sculpture in the irst half of the 14th century. The late 13th and early 14th centuries witnessed the spread of secular imagery into medieval church decoration to an unprecedented degree. It is true that much ostensibly secular imagery was and is susceptible to diferent Christian moralising interpretations, limited only by the wearisome ingenuity of the interpreter, but it was, and can still be, also Plate 12 Detail of the trefoil terminal at the bottom end of the instrument, showing restored portion 8 | The British Museum Citole relished free of any such gloss. Within and outside the church much imagery was intentionally humorous and even vicars and ministers of cathedral churches laughed, giggled, licked candle wax at one another, wore masks and disturbed services, to the scandalized displeasure of their bishops.21 The chronological and geographical contexts of the sculpture: visual comparisons In the British Museum citole’s visual variety, abundance and humour, its demand for the viewer’s active engagement, its ostentatious technical virtuosity and through its deliberate manipulation of diferent levels of reality, the instrument exempliies some of the chief features of the ‘Decorated Style’ in architecture. The lowing, undulating shape of the instrument itself provides a perfect example of sinuous three-dimensional linearity, characteristic of the phase of the style which art-historians usually term ‘curvilinear’: this is normally categorized as extending from about 1290 to the middle of the 14th century.22 Within this broad time frame, it is possible to situate some features of the citole’s carving more precisely. The foliage forms can, for example, be placed within the general stylistic development (to which there are admittedly numerous exceptions) of sculpted foliage.23 At the end of the 13th century in England, leaf shapes became highly naturalistic – as they already had, much earlier, in northern France – and the stif-leaf repertoire of the 13th century was increasingly abandoned.24 The masterpiece of the ‘naturalistic’ phase of foliage carving is famously associated with Southwell Minster’s chapter house and vestibule in Nottinghamshire. In the early 14th century, naturalistic forms were deliberately varied and lowing shapes became increasingly prevalent, until seaweedy or kale-like foliage dominated in the 1330s and 1340s, displacing the earlier variety of forms, in what has been aptly described as a retreat from naturalism into stylization.25 It is, of course, sensible to be sceptical of too tight and precise a chronological sequencing. Typologically ‘earlier’ and ‘later’ forms frequently co-exist. However, it does seem generally to be the case that the naturalistic foliage seen on the citole became rarer in the 1320s and 1330s. The shrine commemorating the burial place of St William in the eastern bay of York Minster’s nave, for example, probably designed by Ivo de Raghton (d. 1339) in the 1330s, and certainly paid for by Archbishop Melton, has several variations in its foliage forms, including hawthorn. However, the foliage is generally rather seaweedy and there are no examples of the very naturalistic ivy and holly, nor of the alternating tiers of upwards and downwards turned (hawthorn) leaves which are found together with the kale types of foliage on the citole; the same seems true of the foliage carved on Beverley Minster’s reredos, probably of c. 1325–35.26 All that can safely be deduced from such comparisons is that there is nothing in the foliage carving of the citole which forces one to date the instrument after c. 1330, and the interest in naturalistic forms seems to predicate a slightly earlier date. The same point can be made about the quatrefoil decoration of the borders, which do not exhibit lowing ogee shapes that are common, although not inevitable, in the 1330s. The citole’s igures, combat scenes and hybrids set amongst foliage are ubiquitous features of early 14th-century ‘marginal’ sculptural decoration of ecclesiastical buildings. Although there is considerable divergence between diferent scholars’ deinitions of architecture’s ‘margins’, a term borrowed from manuscript scholarship, to which it seems more appropriate, the term ‘marginal’ is often used to denote the decoration of architectural features such as corbels and string-courses, the cusping of arches, spandrels and other areas of architectural decoration, as well as whole categories of sculpture such as misericords (the undersides of the tip-up seats of wooden stalls). 27 Many parallels for the features of the citole can be found in such sculpture. In stone carving, a capital at Southwell of the late 1280s or early 1290s has two hounds attacking a hare which is seen from above, from either side, amidst ivy foliage.28 Southwell also has two-legged dragons whose tails metamorphose into foliage.29 The cusps of the arches of the aisle walls in Beverley Minster, East Riding, mainly from the second decade of the 14th century, are illed with crossbowmen and soldiers armed with round shields and short swords, as on Plate 13 Detail of the Percy Tomb, Beverley Minster, showing combat between lion and dragon the citole. Hybrid beasts are also common, as for example on the corbels of the pulpitum of Lincoln Cathedral, probably dating to the 1330s, or on the reredos of Beverley Minster where a recumbent musician playing a dragon-headed bagpipe is also to be seen: a male iddler is nearby, as is a mock combat between a man and a simian-like hybrid. The Percy Tomb in the same church, slightly later in date than the reredos, shows a two-legged, scaly dragon ighting a lion on one corbel (Pl. 13).30 Close to it, a man wearing a bonnet sits between two symmetrically positioned lions facing away from one another, each lion having two bodies and one head. In fact, it is relatively simple to ind parallels in English sculpture from the second to fourth decades of the 14th century for most of the features of the citole’s carving. The nave aisles of York Minster, for example, usually dated between 1291 and c. 1325, have sculpted stops to the gables over the blind tracery lanking the aisle windows and include amongst the subjects hybrid animals and combat scenes (disposed unprogrammatically) as well as a hunting scene and combats above the aisle doorways (Pl. 14).31 The remains of such subjects can also be seen on the exterior at the west end. On the lower part of St William’s shrine base Plate 14 Detail of the interior of York Minster, above the south choir aisle doorway, west end The Decorative Sculpture of the British Museum Citole and its Visual Context | 9 Plate 15 Detail of gurning man from the Lady Chapel, Ely Cathedral are hybrids, combats and grimacing igures with heavy brows. The Lady Chapel of Ely Cathedral, closely related to the Beverley and York sculptures, has reliefs probably datable to the 1320s which include among the virtuoso undercutting of the clunch medium, combat scenes, hybrids, symmetrically posed paired animals with their heads together, birds hidden in foliage and numerous dragons, although the foliage is generally less naturalistic than on the citole.32 An element of surprise and amusement is also emphasized by positioning at Ely: at the east end of the chapel, a hooded man sticking his tongue out seems to lean out towards the surprised spectator in a manner similar to the gurning man on the reverse of the citole (Pl. 15). There seems a consensus amongst scholars that the choice of such subjects was made by the artists themselves, not by the patrons.33 Already in the 12th century, there were complaints – for example in St Bernard’s Apologia de vita et moribus religiosorum – about the distracting grotesques introduced into ecclesiastical buildings. The anonymous author of the c. 1200 treatise Pictor in Carmine condemns images such as hybrid beasts, four lions with one and the same head, huntsmen blowing their horns and so forth, which he claims were devised by artists free from patronal control.34 However, the battle to curtail such invention had been lost by the later Middle Ages and imagery of the type seen on the citole was never more common than in late 13th- and early 14th-century England. In terms of wood sculpture, for example, the variety of foliage forms, naturalistic and seaweedy, seen on the citole reliefs, is strongly reminiscent of the much larger reliefs on the choir stalls at Winchester Cathedral by William Lyngwode and his team dating to c. 1308.35 Here, for example, can be found huntsmen, a large two-legged dragon whose tail terminates in foliage (Pl. 16), beasts with eyes drilled for glass inserts, men armed with round shields, dogs and rabbits. Another dragon, on a boss over a choir stall, has a pronounced nose and eye ridges similar to the dragon topping the citole, as well as long curly ears, webbed wings and a foliate tail (Pl. 17). Lyngwode hailed from Norfolk, where another comparison for some of the features of the citole – a man armed with a round shield ighting a dragon, and with a lion and a bird, all amongst vine foliage – is provided by the stone spandrels of the St Ethelbert gateway of Norwich Cathedral, which are convincingly dated to c. 1316–17.36 There, the reliefs are placed below a quatrefoil border exactly like those found on the citole. The vault bosses of the east walk of the cathedral’s cloister (which probably antedate 1316), those of the irst four bays of the south walk of c. 1324–5 and of the Ethelbert gateway also provide a large number of comparisons: igures with drilled eyes, lions, hybrids with two heads, combats between men and long-eared two-legged dragons, for example, can all be found in the cloister bosses.37 A blocked doorway in the north aisle of the cathedral also provides close comparisons for hybrid igures with their animal lower halves at right angles to the human upper halves and for the tail turning into foliage (Pl. 18). However, in many ways the closest comparisons for the citole’s reliefs are to be seen in manuscript illumination, particularly in the marginal decoration of Psalters, the laity’s main devotional text in the period, and of the Books of Hours which gradually succeeded them.38 In lavishly illustrated Psalters, the margins of the pages were sometimes decorated with imagery commenting on the written texts or Plate 16 Detail of two-legged dragon with tail terminating in foliage, choir stalls, Winchester Cathedral (photo © Dr John Crook) 10 | The British Museum Citole referring to the subjects of the historiated initials. Occasionally, the marginal decorations seem to have had no direct connection with the texts at all, instead featuring humorous images, observations on current events and satirical or proverbial stories. Sometimes, they ran in series on consecutive pages, providing a narrative sequence separate from that of the texts and illustrations above. Each case demands individual scrutiny. Perhaps the most famous of these Psalters, the Luttrell Psalter (British Library, Additional MS 42130), has marginal illustrations ofering many features exhibited by the citole’s decoration, for example hybrid creatures from whose bodies foliage sprouts, dragons, lions, representations of seasonal activities and so forth.39 It is also characterized by the depiction of a great variety of musical instruments, which have recently been interpreted as illustrating, through symbolic opposition, the holy and profane use of music.40 This raises the question of whether the citole’s exclusively secular imagery necessarily indicates its performative functions. However, the temptation to deduce from its ‘marginal’ decoration that the citole was used only for secular music should probably be resisted. The frequent representations of angels playing citoles in art of the period suggests that the instruments were also associated with ecclesiastical music – or at least that the instrument’s connotations were not exclusively profane – and the occurrence of apparently secular scenes in religious buildings or manuscripts warns against a simplistic dichotomy between secular and religious. The Luttrell Psalter was probably illuminated slightly later in date than the citole was carved.41 Many other manuscripts feature images which can be compared with the reliefs of the citole.42 ‘East Anglian’ works such as the Gorleston (British Library, MS Additional 49622) and Ormesby Psalters (Bodleian Library, MS Douce 366), both of which may have been produced in Norwich c. 1310–20, for example, feature directly comparable marginalia.43 However, the closest comparisons with the instrument’s reliefs are found in a group of manuscripts probably originating in the Fenlands.44 The Peterborough Psalter now in Brussels (Bibliothèque royale de Belgique, MS 9961-62), in particular, includes a range of subjects which is Plate 17 Detail of a dragon sharing many features with the dragon on the citole, choir stalls, Winchester Cathedral (© The Dean & Chapter of Winchester /Photographer: Graham Waterton) extraordinarily close to the citole’s reliefs, and the style of some of the artists responsible for the manuscript’s illumination is also very close to that of the sculptor.45 The Peterborough Psalter antedates 1318, when it was given by the abbot of Peterborough, Geofrey of Crowland, to the visiting papal nuncio, Cardinal Gaucelin d’Euse, and was probably a work of the immediately previous years.46 Exactly where the manuscript was produced is not certain, but it is one of a group of closely related manuscripts with lavish decorative qualities, marginal grotesques and hybrids, which seem most likely to have originated in a Fenland or, more generally, a northern East Anglian centre of production. This is consistent with the sculptural parallels adduced above, which link York and the East Riding to centres in the Fenlands such as Ely, and across to Norwich in northern Norfolk, all areas easily linked by sea and river transport.47 The very close similarity of the citole’s repertoire to that of the Peterborough Psalter is remarkable.48 This can readily Plate 18 Detail of doorway spandrel with hybrid man, Norwich Cathedral The Decorative Sculpture of the British Museum Citole and its Visual Context | 11 Plate 19 Beatus page, Peterborough Psalter. Bibliothèque royale de Belgique, Brussels, MS 9961-62, fol. 14 be shown by analysis of the Beatus page (Psalm 1), folio 14, which Lucy Sandler has ascribed to the manuscript’s chief artist and designer (Pl. 19).49 The page displays in the marginal illustration many features which parallel the citole reliefs: archers, a deer hunt with hounds and a man blowing an inverted hunting horn; a man with a large axe; an owl; other birds, goats and various foliage types including vine, holly, oak and maple. Within the historiated initial showing King David at his harp are two other musicians, one of whom, wearing a hood, is playing a dragon-headed citole with a trefoil terminal. It is close in form to our citole. Nearby, a squirrel sits at the edge of the text, and hybrids with foliate tails function as line-illers. Two-legged dragons with foliate tails, painted by the artist’s main assistant, can be found in the calendar, as can a man harvesting grapes, men with axes, hogs, and men with hats like that seen in the relief of the man knocking down acorns. Elsewhere in the manuscript can be found, in the work of another artist, features such as the remarkably distinctive back-turned hybrid shooting an arrow (fol. 34) (Pl. 20), lions, owls, and hounds hunting rabbits. Such comparisons go beyond general similarities and suggest a much deeper relationship. Even bat-winged dragons can be seen in the manuscript: almost every feature of the citole’s repertoire can be found in its illuminations. In the Ramsey Psalter (St Paul in Lavantthal cod. XXV/2, 19), examples such as the crossbowman on fol. 64, or the two lions on fol. 105v by an artist who may later have worked on the Brussels Psalter, provide further comparisons for the citole’s decorative repertoire.50 The instrument’s near repetition of features from the Peterborough Psalter and its fellows suggests that the sculptor worked in the same area as that in which the manuscripts were produced, that is to say in the Fenlands or northern East Anglia, and at the same time, probably the second decade of the 14th century. The similarities are so close that the carver could even, in fact, have had twodimensional models produced by the Peterborough Psalter’s designer in front of him. Many scholars have commented on the relationship between calendar illustrations and the two large reliefs of the peasant knocking down acorns for his pigs and the man chopping an oak tree with his axe; but even more suggestive of two-dimensional models are the right-angled hunting reliefs, which could easily have been derived from Plate 20 Peterborough Psalter fol. 34, marginal illustration. Bibliothèque royale de Belgique, Brussels, MS 9961-62 12 | The British Museum Citole manuscript bas-de-page illustrations, or the hybrid shooting an arrow at a rabbit. The slightly awkward positioning of the deer in one of the two set-square reliefs may even indicate that the sculptor had diiculty transferring his twodimensional model into this shaped ield. The change of direction in the instrument’s decorative reliefs relect, in efect, the marginal illustrations of a manuscript which are often read across the top and bottom of the page, and up and down the margins at the side; the dynamism of the citole’s reliefs scheme could have been inluenced by such a model. Slightly later, in 1346–7, we have a documented instance of an Apocalypse manuscript being purchased to provide the iconographic model for the west walk bosses of Norwich Cathedral’s cloister, and the repetition of subjects in misericords strongly suggests that sculptors often retained two-dimensional models.51 There is nothing inherently improbable, then, in the suggestion that the citole’s carver had access to illustrations by the Peterborough Psalter master. The recurrence of motifs derived from calendars and marginalia in the citole’s reliefs supports the premise that the sculptor himself selected the subjects. It also further problematizes modern deinitions of the ‘marginal’ in sculpture, since here subjects that may have had their origins in manuscript marginalia occupy the centre stage.52 Notes 1 2 3 Conclusion The closest comparisons for the citole’s reliefs are in Fenland or East Anglian manuscripts produced around the second decade of the 14th century; parallels in stone and wood sculpture point in the same direction, both geographically and chronologically. This argument does not, of course, deinitively prove that the sculptor carved the citole in the area nor that the instrument was carved between c. 1310 and 1320. Such absolute precision is not warranted by our evidence. There are many diiculties in dating and localising Fenland and, to a lesser extent, East Anglian manuscript illumination: survival rates are poor; manuscripts had numerous diferent production methods, and they rarely contain, even in their calendars, unequivocal information about when and where they were written and painted; and their artists might be peripatetic, absorbing and disseminating new inluences as they travelled. As we have seen from the example of William Lyngwode, sculptors, like manuscript illuminators, could also move around the country. The carving of stone architectural sculpture, however, generally took place on or near site. Its location, at least, is ixed. This is of interest because none of the comparisons which we have cited between contemporary architectural reliefs and the citole indicate that the instrument’s sculptor left the milieu in which he was trained. On the contrary, all the visual parallels for the citole suggest, to put it no more strongly than this, that its sculptor was trained in the Fenlands or northern East Anglia, that he was active in the second decade of the 14th century and that he had access to two-dimensional models closely related to work by the artists of the Peterborough Psalter in Brussels, which he himself selected as the subject matter for his relief carvings, intending them to amuse and entertain his viewers and audiences. 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Remnant and Marks 1980 (the section on the gittern’s decoration by Professor Marks is pp. 98–101) dated it c. 1300–40 and thought it likely to have been made in England though ‘the possibility of an origin in France or Flanders cannot be entirely discounted’ (p. 100). Dr C. Tracy’s entry on the instrument (cat. no. 521) in Alexander and Binski 1987 described it as ‘probably English, early 14th century’, and the stylistic parallels he adduced date to c. 1300–20. Cherry (1991, 7–9) classiies the instrument as ‘English, early fourteenth century’: the double-page photograph of the citole on pp. 2–3 is unfortunately reversed. Camille (1996, 139) assigned it to c. 1290–1330. Robinson (2008, 214–15) dated it to 1280–1330 and assigned it to English manufacture. Most recently, see Kevin et al. 2008 (Appendix A, this volume, pp. 111–24) who date it to c. 1300–30. The present paper is particularly indebted to the study by Kathryn E. Buehler (Buehler 2002) and to various discussions with Kate from 2001 onwards. I am grateful to Dr Stella Panayotova, Dr Charles Tracy and Dr Lynda Dennison for kindly commenting on an earlier draft of this paper. I have only been able to examine the instrument in the British Museum display case, but I have also beneited from access to photographs by Kate (now BuehlerMcWilliams), who examined the instrument of display. My work on the essay was completed during a University of Leicester Research leave. For the restored section of the trefoil, see the X-radiograph in Kevin et al. 2008, ig. 23 (Appendix A, this volume, p. 122). Ibid., 16 (Appendix A, this volume, p. 114), states that the present background is ‘lax ibre paper with a coating of gold-coloured brass paint’, which may not be original. There is no indication that the rest of the woodwork, which must have been much whiter when originally carved, was painted. Although these two panels were probably carved separately speciically in order to set them against a coloured or gilded background, Kate Buehler-McWilliams has suggested to me that it is also possible that they were made separately so the sculptor had the advantage of carving with the boxwood’s grain. For detailed pictures of the gilt, see Chapter 8, Pl. 1, and Kevin et al. 2008, ig. 11 (Appendix A, this volume, p. 116). For this episode and its context, see Buehler 2002, 87–91. See also this volume, Introduction, pp. v–vi and Appendix B, p. 137. Electrotyping involves the making of a mould, usually of wax, from the model, and this process may have caused damage to the citole. For later changes to the instrument and the violin soundboard, see Ben Hebbert, this volume. See also Buehler-McWilliams 2007 (Appendix B, this volume, pp. 125–41). Bony 1979; Coldstream 1994. Lindley 2008. Of course, the topos which goes back to classical antiquity that the ‘artist’s skill even surpasses the value of the material’ testiies both to the premium placed on high levels of artistic attainment and to the importance of the medium. For the known and speculative provenance of the British Museum citole, see introduction, p. v; Buehler-McWilliams 2007, 35–6 (p. 137 in this volume) and Buehler 2002, 95–100. For other decorated instruments and how their decoration may have contributed to their preservation, see Glasscock, this volume, pp. 79–83. Or, just possibly, as Jackie Hall has suggested to me (pers. comm.), that several people were looking closely at the instrument at the same time. Maes 2010 is not the last word in the debate about hypothetical intentionalism and moderate actual intentionalism. It is odd that this debate has not intersected with the long-running discussions about intentionality within art history. The suggestion that this was not a dragon but a wyvern was ofered by Chris Egerton in his talk at the British Museum on 4 November 2010. However, two-legged dragons with curled tails were common in manuscript illustration of the period (e.g. those with tails turning into foliage beneath the map of the world on fol. 9r of British Library Additional MS 28681 in Bovey 2002, 14. A two-legged dragon is described as a ‘dragon’ [draco] in British Library, Harley MS 3244 f.39v on p. 23 and can be found in Anglo-Saxon manuscript illumination e.g. British Library, Cotton Tiberius C VI f.16r where the tufted two-legged ‘draco’ ights St Michael). The Decorative Sculpture of the British Museum Citole and its Visual Context | 13 13 See the discussion in Buehler 2007, 39–41 (Appendix B, this volume, pp. 138–9) and Ben Hebbert, this volume, p. 70. 14 Kevin et al. 2008, 16 (Appendix A, this volume, p. 114). 15 Cf the Anglo-Saxon dragon in British Library, Cotton MS Tiberius C VI, f.16r. 16 These metamorphoses are not Ovidian but humorous, although Ovid’s Metamorphoses was widely read in the Middle Ages. For hybrids, see Bovey 2002, 41–5. 17 Kevin et al. 2008, 25 (Appendix A, this volume, p. 122). 18 The owl became separated from the citole prior to its acquisition by the British Museum. Its original location was identiied by Kate Buehler-McWilliams. It has not, however, been possible to restore the owl to its intended position. See Buehler-McWilliams 2007 (Appendix B, this volume, pp. 129–30). 19 Cf the crab seen from above in the calendar of the Peterborough Psalter in Brussels discussed below, or the lizard in the earlier Alphonso Psalter, of c. 1284 (Bovey 2002, 50), where an illustration combines the imaginary dragon in proile with close observation of a real reptile. 20 Kevin et al. 2008, 26 notes that some acorns and leaves on the opposite panel are also darker in colour and may also be replacements (Appendix A, this volume, p. 123). Kate has suggested to me that it is likely that these are the original pieces reglued as these are also shown in the electrotype. 21 See Coulton 1928 (vol. 1, 96–9) for Bishop Grandisson’s attempts to stop this behaviour at Exeter in 1330 and 1333. Mummers’ masks seem to be depicted in the Luttrell Psalter. 22 The chronological sequencing of the style tends to disregard the fact that ‘geometrical’ forms co-exist with ‘curvilinear’ in many contexts. 23 This is an angle explored by Marks in Remnant and Marks 1980, 99–100. 24 For French naturalism, see Camille 1996, 134–5. 25 Henderson 1967, 95. 26 Wilson (1977, 12) dates the shrine to the early 14th century, ‘when the nave was nearing completion’, thus probably the second half of the 1320s or the 1330s. The design is ascribed to Ivo de Raghton by Harvey (1984 s.n.), for whom see also the Beverley reredos, the date of which is discussed in Lindley 2007, 177. 27 E.g. Camille (1992) deines Gothic marginal sculpture as gargoyles, chimeras, corbel-heads and capitals and misericords, but also includes the quatrefoil medallions of the portail des Libraries at Rouen. For sceptical reviews see Baxter 1993 and de Hamel 1992. For a diferent deinition of marginal sculpture from Camille’s, see Kenaan-Kedar 1995, 3–5, 70–3, 77 and 134, reviewed in Morrison 1997. See also Weir and Jerman 1986 and Sekules 1995, where the scheme of marginal imagery at Heckington is viewed as reinforcing the central devotional focus of the church. 28 Pevsner 1945, pls 26 and 27. For the date of the chapter house, see also Summers 1988, 39–41. 29 Pevsner 1945, pl. 2. 30 Lindley 2007, ch. 5. 31 Oosterwijk 1990. 32 Lindley 1985. 33 E.g. Wilson 1977, 16–17: ‘There can be little doubt that such a hotch-potch of irrelevant and often irreverent subjects relects the choice of the masons, whose main aim was sumptuousness of visual efect.’ Camille 1992, 95, suggested that ‘ecclesiastical patrons left 14 | The British Museum Citole 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 the non-essential parts of programmes to the imaginations of their makers’. James 1951. For a recent analysis of the meanings of marginalia in medieval art, see Mills 2008. Tracy 1987, 16. Sekules 1980 (the bird is tentatively interpreted as a basilisk and the sculpture seen as a moral message to the citizenry, following the riots of 1272). Fernie and Whittingham 1972, 31–3. Their view of the vault bosses of the Ethelbert Gateway as being later than its west facade is disputed by Sekules (1980, 32), who argues that the vault is datable to c. 1316–17. See also Lindley 1987 (especially p. 42, n. 49, citing Professor Christopher Wilson’s work for the dating of the east walk bosses). See n. 25 above. See also Wirth 2003; Jorgensen 2005. Camille 1998b; Brown 2006. Buckland 2003, 94. The latest scholar to study the manuscript, Michelle Brown, dates the pertinent illustrations between 1330 and 1345 (Brown 2006, 22). Marks in Remnant and Marks 1980, 100–1, divides the reliefs of the citole into three categories – Labours of the Months; hunting scenes; and grotesques and hybrids – and cites comparisons in a variety of manuscripts datable to c. 1300–40. Sandler (1974, 135) suggested that both the ‘East Anglian’ and ‘Fenland’ manuscripts might have been produced in London. She points to comparisons between the Gorleston artist and the Peterborough Psalter designer (p. 128). For both manuscripts, see Sandler 1986 (vol. 2, 49–51, for the campaigns on the Ormesby Psalter, the relevant one being assigned to c. 1310–20 and 56–8 for the Gorleston Psalter). For comparisons between the citole and the Gorleston Psalter see for example the lion (ig. 342). It does not appear to have been noticed that the dynamic igures of the Ormesby Psalter’s Beatus page can be closely paralleled in the vault bosses of Norwich cloister’s east walk. Brown (2006, 64) states that ‘the stylistic context [of the Luttrell Psalter’s illumination] lies within East Anglia and the Fenlands, especially books made in the 1320s in Norwich whence some of the Luttrell Psalter’s makers may have been drawn, especially the scribe, those responsible for the border and minor decoration...’. For the division of hands in the manuscript, see Sandler 1974. Ibid., 109–10. Darby 1940, ch. 3. Sandler’s ‘Master A’ (Sandler 1974). Sandler 1974, ig. 296. Sandler dates the Ramsey Psalter before 1316 (1974, 117), and probably before 1310 (p. 119). Fernie and Whittingham 1972, 38. The contemporary spandrels of the Ethelbert Gateway in Norwich were placed below and between a series of [now lost] sculpted images whose identity was once unequivocal (a statue of Christ showing his wounds stood in the central niche). In such a context, the subjects of the spandrels could certainly, as Dr Sekules has suggested, have been intended to convey a moral message to the citizenry. However, if the choice of the spandrels’ subject was left to the sculptors, then their meaning may not have been so ixed or precise. Their interpretation may always have been both richer and less easily deined than the religious statues in the niches. Chapter 2 ‘Alioquin Deiceret Hic Instrumentum Illud Multum Vulgare’ A Brief Overview of Citoles in Art and Literature c. 1200–1400 Alice C. Margerum In 1910, Francis Galpin, the eminent historian of music, commented: ‘In the citole...we have an instrument which has been much misunderstood’. Since then it has been both misunderstood and overlooked.1 This book aims to improve the understanding of medieval citoles and ofer a context for the British Museum’s citole, which, although it has been much altered, is the sole surviving example of this important medieval instrument type. The title of this chapter quotes a marginal note in a 14th-century manuscript which suggests that the ‘sitola’ was a very common instrument (Pl. 1).2 Where and when the citole was popular can be gleaned from the large body of literary and pictorial evidence surviving from the late 12th through 14th centuries, although many of these sources are not well known.3 Before surveying the relevant medieval sources, it is worth examining some current misunderstandings relating to this instrument, including why 20th-century scholars such as Galpin thought that the British Museum citole should be called a gittern. Several medieval sources, however, correlate images of speciic instruments with citole-related names and corroborate that we are now assigning the correct name to this instrument type. The subsequent brief survey of citoles in surviving medieval literary and pictorial sources indicates where and when the citole seems to have been popular. Closer examination of the literary references to and representations of human citolers suggests the sorts of people who were associated with playing the citole and their perceived social status. Images of citoles show regional characteristics, but also help to reveal whether the medieval portions of the British Museum citole were usual or not. This chapter will discuss the ways in which modern scholars have been confused about the medieval citole, verify what sort of instrument was called a citole during the Middle Ages and consider where and when it was popular, who might have played it and whether the British Museum citole would have been a typical medieval citole. Modern confusion relating to citoles Three of the main causes for the persistent modern confusion relating to citoles are the incorrect attribution of terminology, which led to the misidentiication of the type of medieval instrument denoted by the term ‘citole’; a methodological law in the dating of literary references, which has clouded knowledge of when the name appeared in diferent regions; and the lack of any comprehensive study dedicated to this type of instrument, which has meant that assumptions about this instrument type have often been based on a small selection of evidence. During the past two centuries, the British Museum citole and depictions of similar instruments have been identiied by several diferent vernacular names, most frequently ‘guitarra latina’, ‘gittern’ or ‘citole’. In 1776, because John Hawkins did not recognize that the instrument, now called ‘the British Museum citole’, had been altered from a medieval plucked instrument, he described it as a 16thcentury violin of ‘singular form’.4 In 1855, Mariano Soriano Fuertes associated the term ‘guitarra latina’ used in Libro de buen amor with medieval Castilian depictions of plucked chordophones with incurving sides.5 A year later, Edmond ‘Alioquin Deiceret Hic Instrumentum Illud Multum Vulgare’ | 15 Plate 1 This late 14th-century Franco-Flemish marginal gloss explains that the ‘lira’ mentioned in the main text is in general a type of ‘cithare’ (stringed instrument) or in particular the very common ‘sitola’. MS Brussels, Bibliothèque royale de Belgique, 21069, fol. 39r de Coussemaker agreed with Soriano Fuertes’ use of the term ‘guitarra latina’, but also identiied a 14th-century manuscript, shown in Plate 1, which indicated that the ‘sitola’ had a roughly holly leaf-shaped body.6 Unfortunately, de Coussemaker’s article does not seem to have been widely known. Four years later, Rimbault proposed that the citole was a type of small box zither plucked with the ingers, a deinition that then appeared in several dictionaries of music.7 In 1910, based on the authority of a 17th-century writer Pedro Cerone de Bergamo who referred to the cittern of his time by several names including ‘citola’, ‘cythara’ and ‘cethera’, Francis Galpin asserted that citoles were a form of early cittern that had pear-shaped bodies and lat backs.8 Possibly inluenced by Soriano Fuertes, Galpin identiied ‘gitterns’ as a form of early guitar with a lat back and incurving sides. In his discussion of gitterns, Galpin included the 14th-century instrument converted into a violin, which at that time was housed at Warwick Castle. Galpin’s deinition was very inluential, and for most of the 20th century this last surviving, much altered citole, now in the British Museum, bore the misnomer ‘Warwick Castle Gittern’.9 In 1977, Laurence Wright challenged Galpin’s deinitions of which instruments were called ‘citole’ and ‘gittern’ during the Middle Ages and brought the manuscript gloss previously identiied by de Coussemaker to wider attention (Pl. 1).10 Wright argued that medieval instruments like the example in the British Museum would have been known as citoles and it is his deinition of the term ‘citole’ that is accepted by most recent dictionaries of music.11 Current confusion regarding whether this instrument type should be called by the name ‘citole’, ‘gittern’ or ‘guitarra latina’ stems in part from out-of-date reference books and not knowing which of these authorities to believe. The 14th-century marginal gloss cited by de Coussemaker and Wright is not the only source, however, that identiies a plucked instrument with a distinct neck and non-oval body outline as a citole. A later section in this chapter will present three unrelated medieval sources that explicitly associate images of plucked chordophones similar to the British Museum’s instrument with citole-variant terminology. An understanding of when the name ‘citole’ appeared in diferent linguistic regions has been muddled by a methodological law in the approach to literary sources. The 16 | The British Museum Citole surviving manuscripts that include citole-related instrument names are often much more recent than the narratives they contain. Although it is not uncommon for literary works to be dated by authorship, if no copy survives from the author’s lifetime, it can be diicult to tell whether an individual word was chosen by the author, an intermediate copyist or the scribe who produced the surviving manuscript. As with any single word, especially when it is not required to complete a rhyme, a later scribe might have added or replaced a citole-related term. Dating citations by the veriiable evidence ofered by surviving manuscripts overturns some previous assumptions about when citole-related terms appeared in diferent regions and linguistic groups. Daurel et Beton, for example, is often cited as the earliest use of the term ‘citola’, because a poem with that name is believed to have been composed c. 1130–50.12 It is impossible to establish, however, whether the sole surviving mid-14th-century copy of Daurel et Beton (Table 1: O.3) is an accurate transcription of the anonymous author’s 12th-century original or if it is even the same story. Comparing multiple exemplars of a particular text can ofer some indications about changes in the use of citole-related terms. References to the çitola appear several times in each of the major copies of Libro de buen amor (Table 1: C.6), but it has been suggested that the exclusion of citoles from an extensive list of instruments in stanzas 1228–33 indicates the declining status of the citole in Iberia by the irst third of the 14th century. Although the work was compiled around 1330 no copies have survived from that date. If this single omission can be considered evidence that the citole was falling out of fashion, this happened some time between c. 1368 (the date of the earliest surviving copy, the ‘Toledo MS’, in which ‘la citola’ does appear in this passage) and 1389 (the date of the ‘Gayoso MS’ in which it does not).13 Although it is more diicult to substitute a citole term when it appears in a rhyming position, there is evidence of this as well. Chrétien de Troyes’ Erec et Enide survives in seven more-or-less complete manuscripts dating from the late 12th to the early 14th centuries, but ‘citole’ appears only in one late 13th-century northern French copy where it is used as a rhyme for ‘viole’ (Table 1: F.5). In the other copies, ‘viole’ does not appear but rather the linguistic variant ‘vielle’ which is rhymed with a wind instrument ‘chalamele’.14 Even Table 1 Manuscripts containing citole-related terminology Because many of the relevant manuscripts are copies of earlier texts, and it is not possible to verify the exact wording of a lost original, the dates shown below are for the speciied manuscript, which is usually the earliest surviving copy of the work conirmed to include a citole. Manuscripts are listed chronologically within each linguistic group. An X in the preix denotes a manuscript dated after 1400 that is discussed in this chapter. Anglo-Norman A.1. – Fouke Fitz Warin: MS: London, British Library (BL), Royal 12.C.XII (early 14th century). A.2. – Liber Custumarum: MS: London, Metropolitan Archives, COL/ CS/01/006 (c. 1324). A.3. – La geste Blanchelour e de Florence: MS: Princeton University Taylor, Coll. Phill. 25970 (c. 1325–50). A.4. – Du loop qui trouva une teste pointe, ‘Ysopet’ (Gualterus Anglicus): MS: Brussels, Bibliothèque royale (BR), 11193 (mid-14th century). A.5. – Mirour de l’Omme, John Gower: MS: Cambridge University Library, Add. 3035 (end 14th century). Castilian C.1. – Primera Crónica General de España (Estoria de España I), Alfonso X: MS: Madrid, Biblioteca del Escorial, Y.I.2 (before 1278). C.2. – General estoria I, Alfonso X: MS: Madrid, Biblioteca Nacional (BN), 816 (Olim F-1) (c. 1272–5). C.3. – General estoria IV, Alfonso X: MS: Rome, Vatican, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Urb. lat. 539 (c. 1280). C.4. – Libro de Alexandre: MS: Madrid, BN, V-5-no 10 (end 13th/early 14th century). C.5. – La estoria de Sennor Sant Millan, Gonzalo de Berceo: MS: Madrid, Real Academia Española, 4 (c. 1325). C.6. – Libro de buen amor, Archpriest of Hita (‘Juan Ruiz’): MS: Madrid, BN, Va-6-1 (third quarter of 14th century, possibly 1368); MS: Madrid, Real Academia Española, 19 (dated 1389). English E.1. – The Knight’s Tale, Geoffrey Chaucer: MS: London, BL, Harley 7334 (late 14th century). E.2. – Sir Launfal, Thomas Chestre: MS: London, BL, Cotton Caligula A.ii. (late 14th century). E.3. – The Pearl, ‘the pearl poet’: MS: London, BL, Cotton Nero A.x (late 14th century). E.4. – Confessio Amantis, John Gower: MS: Oxford, Bodleian Library, Fairfax 3 (late 14th century). E.5. – Sir Cleges: MS: Edinburgh, National Library, Advocates 19.1.11 (c. 1400). E.6. – Libeaus Desconus, attributed to Thomas Chestre: MS: Lincoln’s Inn, Hale 150; ff. 4r–12v. (end 14th/early 15th century). E.7. – Kyng Alisaunder: MS: London, Lincoln’s Inn, Hale 150; ff. 28r–90r. (end 14th/early 15th century). E.8. – The Story of England, Robert Manning of Brunne: MS: Oxford, Bodleian Library, Rawl. D.913 (c. 1400). EX.9 – Sir Degrevant, Anonymous: MS: Lincoln, Lincoln Cathedral, A.5.2 (c. 1430). French F.1. – Li Biaus Descouneüs, Renaud de Beaujeu: MS: Chantilly, Bibl. et Archives du Château, 472 (c. 1250–75). F.2. – Roman de Renart (Branch XI): MS: Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France (BnF), fr. 20043 (second half of 13th century). F.3. – Le tournoiement de l’Antéchrist, Huon de Mery: MS: Paris, BnF, fr. 1593 (second half 13th century). F.4. – Li livres dou tresor, Brunetto Latini: MS ‘M3’: Madrid, Escorial, L-II-3 (late 13th century); MS ‘L2’: St Petersburg, National Library, Fr. F.v.III N 4 (early 14th century); MS ‘YT’: London, BL, Yates Thompson 19 (c. 1315–25). F.5. – Erec et Enide, Chrétien de Troyes: MS: Paris, BnF, fr. 375 (c. 1288). F.6. – Le pet au vilain, Rutebeuf: MS: Paris, BnF, fr. 837 (late 13th century). F.7. – De Frere Denise, Rutebeuf: MS: Paris, BnF, fr. 1635 (end 13th century). F.8. – Des deux bordéors ribauz: MS: Paris, BnF, fr. 19152 (end 13th/ early14th century). F.9. – Renart le nouvel, Jacquemart Giélée: MS: Paris, BnF, fr. 25566 (late 13th century). F.10. – Roman de Renart (Branch VI): MS: Paris, BnF, fr. 1579 (late 13th century). F.11. – Li roumans de Cléomadès, Adenet le Roi: MS: Paris, Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal, 3142 (end 13th century). F.12. – Durmart le Galois: MS: Bern, Burgerbibliothek, 113 (end 13th century). F.13. – Le roman de la Rose, Guillaume de Lorris and Jean de Meun, MS: Paris, BnF, fr. 378 (end 13th century). F.14 – Le clef d’amors: MS: London, BL, Add. 27308 (end 13th/early 14th century). F.15. – Li romans de Claris et Laris: MS: Paris, BnF, fr. 1447 (end 13th/ early 14th century). F.16. – ‘En mai au douz tens nouvel’: MS: Paris, Arsenal, 5198 réserve (early14th century). F.17. – Le tournoi de Chauvency, Jacques Bretel: MS: Mons, Bibliothèque principale, 330–215 (early 14th century). F.18. – Roman de Renart (Branch XVII): MS: Turin, Biblioteca Nazionale Universitaria, Varia 151 (early 14th century). F.19. – Kerr Versiied Apocalypse: MS: New York, private collection (early 14th century). F.20. – Baudouin de Sebourc: MS: Paris, BnF, fr. 12552 & 12553 (early to mid-14th century). F.21. – Renart le contrefait: MS: Paris, BnF, fr. 1630 (1319–22). F.22. – Du loup et de la truie (fable XX), Ysopet I: MS: Paris, BnF, fr. 1594 (c. 1325). F.23. – Floriant et de Florete: MS: New York, Public Library, de Ricci 122 (end 13th/early 14th century). F.24. – Richars li biaus, ‘Maistre Requis’: MS: Turin, BN Univ., L.I.13 (early 14th century). F.25. – La Bible de Macé de la Charité: MS: Paris, BnF, fr. 401 (dated 1343). F.26. – La requeste des Freres Meneurs sus le septième Climent le Quint: MS: Paris, BnF, fr. 24432 (c. 1345–9). F.27. – Li lays dou blanc chevalier, Jean de Condé: MS: Turin, BN Univ., L.1.13 (14th century). F.28. – Branche des royaus lignages, Guillaume Guiart: MS: Paris, BnF, fr. 5698 (14th century). F.29. – Ch’est des maintiens des béghine, Gilles li Muisis: MS: Brussels, BR, IV 119 (c. 1350–2). F.30. – Le theodolet, translated by Jean le Fèvre de Ressons: MS: Paris, BnF, fr. 19123 (late 14th/early 15th century). F.31 – Le remède de fortune, Guillaume de Machaut: MS: Paris, BnF, fr. 1586 (c. 1350–5). F.32. – La prise d’Alexandrie, Guillame de Machaut: MS: Paris, BnF, fr. 9221 (late 14th century). F.33. – Le livre de ethiques d’Aristote, Nicole Oresme, Bishop of Lisieux: MS: Brussels, BR, 2902 (dated 1372). F.34. – Le livres de politiques d’Aristote, Nicole Oresme, Bishop of Lisieux: MS: Avranches, BM, 223 (c. 1372–82). F.35. – Metz Psalter or Le Psautier Lorraine: MS: Paris, BnF, fr. 9572 (late 14th century). F.36. – Le livre de leesce, Jehan le Fèvre de Resson: MS: Wolfenbüttel, Herzog August Bibl., Aug. 405 (late 14th century). F.37. – Échecs amoureux, Evrart de Conty: MS: Dresden, Sächsische Landesbibliothek – Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek, Oc. 66 (late 14th century). F.38. – Le panthère d’amours, Nicole de Margival: MS: Paris, BnF, fr. 24432 (end 14th century). F.39. – La vieille, Jean le Fèvre de Ressons: MS: Paris, BnF, fr. 881 (end 14th/early 15th century). German G.1. – Alexander-Anhang, Ulrich von Etzenbach: MS: Wein, K.K. Hofbibliothek, cod. 568 olim philol. 258 (late 13th century). G.2. – Reinfrid von Braunschweig: MS: Gotha, Forschungsbibl., Cod. Memb. II 42 (irst half 14th century). G.3. – Der Renner, Hugo von Trimberg: MS: Erlangen, Universitätabibliothek, B 4 (dated 1347). G.4. – Gottes Zukunft, Heinrichs von Neustadt: MS: Heidelberg, Universitätsbibliothek, Cod. Pal. Germ. 401 (c. 1346–55). G.5. – Der jüngere Titurel, Albrecht Von Scharfenberg: MS: Berlin, SB Preußicher Kulturbesitz, Germ. Fol. 470 (end 14th/start 15th century). GX.6. – Morant und Galie: MS: Darmstadt, Hofbibliothek, 2290 (start 15th century). ‘Alioquin Deiceret Hic Instrumentum Illud Multum Vulgare’ | 17 Table 1 (continued) Manuscripts containing citole-related terminology Italian I.1. – Il tesoro (Li livres dou tresor translation), Brunetto Latini: MS: Florence, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Plut. 42.19 (end 13th/ start 14th century). Latin L.1. – Dictionarius, Magistri Johannes de Garlandia: MS: Paris, BnF, Latin 11282 (irst half 13th century). L.2. – Tractatus de musica, Magister Lambertus (Pseudo-Aristotle): MS: Paris, BnF, lat. 6755 (late 13th century). L.3 – De planctu naturae, Alain de Lille (marginal gloss only) MS: Brussels, BR, 21069 (14th century). Occitan O.1. – Fadet joglar, Guiraut de Calanson: MS: Modena, Bibliotheque Estense α, R.4.4 (after 1254); MS: Paris, BnF, fr. 22543 (end 13th/early 14th century). O.2. – Flamenca: MS: Carcassonne, BM, 35 (end 13th/early 14th century). O.3. – Daurel et Beton: MS: Paris, BnF, nouv. acq. fr. 4232 (mid-14th century). in copies close in date to the life of the author a scribe might alter a reference to a particular instrument. In six 14thcentury copies of Guillaume de Machaut’s Le remède de fortune (Table 1: F.31) a ‘citole’ is mentioned in line 3981, but in one manuscript ‘citole’ is replaced by ‘viole’.15 Since it can be demonstrated that some later scribes did add or remove references to citoles, the only reliable evidence of when citole-related terms were used are the surviving manuscripts that contain those terms. Table 1 lists the medieval texts considered in this article and the earliest manuscript copy of each known to include a speciic reference to the citole. Although some manuscripts hint that a citole-related term was used in an earlier, non-surviving copy, attributing a precise date to a single word in a lost manuscript is speculation. Where several copies of a text mention a citole in a speciic passage, and none of these copies is the source upon which the others are based, it is likely that the citole reference appeared in an earlier exemplar but the exact date of when the relevant term irst appeared in that work cannot be veriied. This is the case with 12 medieval secular Galician-Portuguese insult poems that mention players of the ‘cítola’ and ‘cítolon’. The poems are attributed to various poets associated with the courts of Castile and León or Portugal between c. 1214–95, but the earliest known copies of these poems are preserved in two early 16th-century Italian compilations (Table 1: PX.3–PX.4). Diferences between these compilations indicate that neither was copied from the other, but it is not possible to date their antecedent sources with certainty, whether common or distinct.16 The same problem occurs when trying to date a speciic citole reference in a text arising from oral tradition: surviving manuscripts are the only irm evidence of the use of a speciic word. The citoles mentioned in various tales (known as branches) of the Roman de Renart (Table 1: F.2, F.10, F.18), for example, seem to have been added at diferent times.17 The Renart stories were based on 12th-century folk tales and the various verse branches were composed between 1170– 1250 but no written copies survive from before the second half of the 13th century. Because several late 13th-century manuscripts from diferent groups include ‘les estives et les 18 | The British Museum Citole O.4. – Elucidari de las proprietatz de totas res naturals, Occitan translation of De proprietatibus rerum by Bartholomaeus Anglicus, MS: Paris, Bibliothèque Sainte Geneviève, 1029 (c. 1345–55). Galician-Portuguese P.1. – Old Testament in Galician-Portuguese, from Mosteiro de Santa Maria de Alcobaça: MS: Lisbon, BN, Códice Alcobacense nº 349 (late 13th or 14th century). P.2. – Dicto e vida de hũu mõie de Roma que grande no paaço do emperador foy: MS: Lisbon, Arquivo Nactional da Torre do Tombo, da Livraria, 771 (14th century). PX.3. – Cancioneiro da Vaticana (poems 71, 941, 971, 972, 973, 1104, 1105, 1106, 1107, 1009, 1010, 1202): MS: Vatican, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana Cod. vat. 4803 (16th century). PX.4. – Cancioneiro da Biblioteca Nacional (poems 488, 1334, 1363, 1364, 1365, 1493, 1494, 1495, 1497): MS: Lisbon, Biblioteca Nacional, Colocci-Brancuti, Cod. 10991 (16th century). citoles’, in a list of instruments at the imperial court in Branch XI, this suggests that citoles probably appeared in an earlier version of this story, whether written or recited. The hare with ‘une citole’ mentioned in Branch XVII, however, appears in a unique interpolated passage of 176 verses that can not be traced earlier than the 14th-century manuscript that contains it (Table 1: F.18). Despite these hints at earlier usage, it is worth reiterating that surviving manuscripts provide the only veriiable dates for the use of citole-related terms. Finally, some misconceptions about the citole may have arisen because no general study has been published prior to this volume. In many discussions of this instrument type the same few images and texts are cited, even though they might not be the most characteristic examples. For example, it has been suggested that citole playing was associated with shepherds, but this is based on only two medieval texts and neither of these describes ordinary medieval music making: one citole-playing shepherd is part of an allegorical setting and the other shepherd is St Emilian, who is steeped in King David symbolism (Table 1: C.6 and C.5; Pl. 4).18 Some ine research has been published relating to this instrument type (particularly by Wright and by Young, which will be discussed in detail later), but most of these previous studies have been either brief or narrowly focused. Several modern authors have examined this instrument type in Iberian sources,19 English art20 and German literature,21 or have focused on the only surviving instrument.22 Although the scholarship is often admirable, these studies devoted to a single region or type of evidence cannot discuss the citole in a broad context. Often musicologists have relegated depictions of this instrument type to the pre-history of a later instrument, usually the guitar or cittern,23 rather than treating the citole as a fully developed medieval instrument type. By considering only a small amount of the surviving evidence, modern scholars have provided the impression that citoles must have been relatively uncommon. Before briely surveying the more than 60 diferent texts preserved in manuscripts dating from before 1400 that contain citole-related terminology, as well as over 180 Plate 2 (left) Detail of a ‘cistole’ from Li livres dou tresor, c. 1300, north-eastern France, possibly Thérouanne or Arras. MS ‘L2’: National Library of Russia, St Petersburg, Fr. F.v.III N 4, fol. 47r Plate 3 (above) Detail of a ‘cistoile’ from Li livres dou tresor, late 13th century or early 14th century, north-eastern France. MS ‘YT’: British Library, Yates Thompson 19, fol. 50v (© The British Library Board) depictions of distinct necked, plucked chordophones with non-oval body outlines from the same period, it is worth verifying which instrument type was referred to as a ‘citole’ during the Middle Ages. Three medieval texts with illustrations of citoles Several medieval texts that contain a citole-related term are illustrated with plucked, necked instruments that have incurving sides. Although a single piece of evidence might be doubted as the opinion of an individual scribe, three unrelated sources corroborate each other and support the current identiication of the British Museum’s instrument as a citole. To conirm that the name was applied correctly, it is important to determine that these sources independently identify the same instrument type with a citole-related term. We will begin with the Franco-Flemish manuscript brought to attention by de Coussemaker and Wright, followed by a consideration of two copies of an earlier illustrated bestiary written by an exiled Florentine and a painting from a framed altarpiece based on a Castilian verse hagiography. Text one: a marginal gloss on De planctu naturae The best-known illustrated text that identiies a citole is a Franco-Flemish marginal text gloss and sketch in a 14thcentury copy of Alanus de Insulis’ Latin allegorical work, De planctu naturae (MS Brussels, Bibliothèque royale de Belgique, 21069, folio 39) (Pl. 1). Wright ofers a concise orthographic interpretation of this manuscript, identifying the handwriting as belonging to several scribes involved in the glossing of the text.24 He pairs the sketch of the holly leaf-shaped instrument to the extended gloss of the word lira, which he transcribes as: Lira est quoddam genus cithare vel est sitola alioquin deiceret hic instrumentum illud multum vulgare25 and translates it as: Lira is a certain type of cithara or is a sitola; otherwise that very common instrument would be lacking here. Wright concludes that, since the sketch of the holly leafshaped instrument was drawn in the same light, loose hand as the extended gloss, it was therefore meant to illustrate the ‘sitola’. Some modern scholars have hesitated to accept Wright’s interpretation of this gloss, but the other two corroborating texts presented here should assuage these doubts. Text two: illustrations in Li livres dou tresor Two medieval copies of Brunetto Latini’s Li livres dou tresor contain illustrations of a passage that mentions a citole. The encyclopaedic Tresor, written while Latini was in exile in France from 1260 to 1267, contains the most numerous and varied uses of the term ‘citole’ of any surviving medieval text. That the term ‘citole’ was used by Latini, and not merely inserted by a later copyist, is attested to by a late 13th-century manuscript (Madrid, Escorial, L.II.3, referred to as manuscript ‘M3’) that was produced under Latini’s supervision, if not by Latini himself.26 Often assumed to be the most authentic version of Latini’s text, this manuscript includes citole-related nomenclature in ten separate passages and in a variety of contexts. Although Latini might have selected the term ‘citole’ merely as a euphonious translation for a Latin instrument name in some passages derived from the Bible, the Physiologus (a popular early medieval Latin translation of a 2nd-century ad Greek text that formed the basis for most medieval bestiaries) or Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, not all of the Tresor is based on earlier sources. The encyclopaedia contains original interpretations of earlier works as well as material authored by Latini. He selects ‘citole’ as the contemporaneous instrument of reference in several metaphors and similes. Latini seems to have believed that the citole would be a familiar enough instrument that it would help make the text more understandable to members of the late 13th-century laity, his intended readership. More than 80 medieval French-language manuscript copies and fragments of the Tresor have survived, in addition to numerous contemporaneous translations, but few of these are illustrated.27 Typically, the bestiary is the most highly ‘Alioquin Deiceret Hic Instrumentum Illud Multum Vulgare’ | 19 Plate 4 Detail from the Tablas de San Millán, showing the future St Emilian with his ‘çitola’, mid- to late 14th century, Monastery of San Millán de la Cogolla, La Rioja, Spain. Museo de La Rioja, Logroño, no. 399/400 (photo: A. Margerum 2006, used by permission of the Museo de La Rioja) illustrated section of the illuminated Tresor manuscripts, and at least two northern French copies include miniatures that depict sirens playing musical instruments. Both of these include a variant citole-related term in the text (‘cistole’ and ‘cistoile’),28 and illustrate a siren who is shown in the act of plucking the strings of a holly leaf-shaped necked chordophone with a substantial plectrum. The earlier of the two relevant illustrated Tresor manuscripts, MS ‘L2’ (St Petersburg, National Library Fr. F.v.III N 4), is written in the Picard dialect in northern French script and is believed to date from c. 1300 (Pl. 2).29 The text beginning at the bottom right-hand column of folio 47r, line 38, reads: la premiere cantoit mieruilleuzement · car liplusieur dient qui elles cantoient les unes endroite uois de feminine · Lautre en uois de laut et de canon · La terce de cistole·30 Translation: The irst of them sang marvellously, and many said that they sang the one with the voice of a woman; the other with the voice of a laut and of a canon; the third of a cistole.31 The accompanying miniature on folio 47r shows three sirens, each holding an instrument in a credible playing position. From right to left, the instruments illustrated are a slightly conical end-blown wind instrument ( laut), a triangular frame harp (canon) and a holly leaf-shaped plucked chordophone (cistole). Two of these sirens, those playing the laut and canon, seem to have been inluenced by a preexisting artistic convention, which associated playing an end-blown wind instrument and a harp with sirens.32 It is the remaining siren (without a recognizable archetype) that is of interest in the study of the citole. Latini seems to have been unique in including a citole-related term in a description of sirens and the images in Plates 2–3 illustrate that text. The other copy of the Tresor to contain a depiction of siren instrumentalists, MS ‘YT’ (London, British Library, Yates Thompson 19), is also from north-eastern France, probably Pas-de-Calais or Picardy, but has been dated to 1315–29, slightly later than the other copy. The illustration at the bottom of the left-hand column of folio 50v (Pl. 3) is comparable to that in the ‘L2’ Tresor (Pl. 2). It shows a distinct necked, plucked chordophone and an end-blown wind instrument, but does not include the harp. There are 20 | The British Museum Citole several explanations for why only two instruments are illustrated here, the simplest relating to the word ‘canon’ having been transcribed as ‘canom’: either the illustrator was uncertain how to depict the second siren with both a ‘laut’ and a ‘canom’, or did not recognize ‘ca-nom’, which is split across a line break, as an instrument name. The depiction of the third siren and her citole in both of these examples seems to have been inluenced by the description in the text rather than being a copy of classical models. That the term citole in this section of the Tresor might have been chosen by the author as a translation for the Latin lira is irrelevant. Both illustrators associated the term ‘cistole’, or ‘cistoile’, with the same type of contemporaneous instrument. Referring speciically to the St Petersburg ‘L2’ manuscript, Mokretsova comments that the framed miniatures in this bestiary contain no secondary meaning but are direct illustrations of the text; indeed, these miniatures appear to be depictions of the named instruments as the artists understood them.33 Text three: an altar painting based on La estoria de San Millán The 6th-century St Emilian the Cowled, a patron saint of Castile, reputedly played a stringed instrument in his youth. During the 14th century, the monks at the monastery he founded modernized the instrument he played irst by giving it a medieval name and then by illustrating it with the corresponding shape.34 Within the space of a few decades, they produced both a decorated copy of Gonzalo de Berceo’s Castilian verse hagiography, La estoria de San Millán (Table 1: C.5), which mentions that the young Emilian had played ‘una çitola’, and a painted altarpiece depicting scenes from the saint’s life, which twice shows him with a distinct necked chordophone with a holly leaf-shaped body (Pl. 4). Although La estoria de San Millán is often described as containing the earliest use of the term çitola in Castilian literature, there is no evidence that the author ever knew or used the term.35 Although Gonzalo de Berceo was one of the most important early authors in Castilian and composed his original version of the text around 1234, no 13th-century manuscript of this work is known to survive and the term çitola has not been identiied in any of his other works. Until the early 19th century, two medieval copies of the Estoria resided at the monastery of San Millán de la Cogolla, one in quarto believed to date from c. 1250–60 and one in folio dating from c. 1325. Since the current location of the earlier quarto manuscript is unknown, most modern editions are based on 18th-century transcriptions of it and include the term cítara not çitola.36 It is the decorated, but not illuminated 14th-century folio manuscript (Table 1: C.5), which Dutton suggests modernized the language of Gonzalo de Berceo’s original, that speciically names the çitola. Stanza 7 reads: Auia otra costunbre el pastor que uos digo: Por uso vna çitola traya siempre consigo Por referir el suenno, que el mal enemjgo Furtar non li podiesse cordero njn cabrito37 Translation: The shepherd of whom I speak to you had another custom, He always carried with him a [çitola] to use To banish sleep, so that the wicked enemy Would not be able to steal from him either lamb or kid38 Later in the 14th century, the monastery produced a painted altarpiece that includes a depiction of the scene described above and another of an angel calling the future St Emilian to be a shepherd of men rather than sheep (Pl. 4). Now in the Museo de La Rioja, the Tablas de San Millán is believed to date from the mid- to late 14th century.39 On the left-hand panel, the irst of the smaller scenes shows the future saint playing his holly leaf-shaped çitola by plucking it with a large, relatively wide tapering plectrum. In the second, the çitola is resting on the ground. The stringed instrument here is distinctly diferent from those shown being played by angels on other sections of the altarpiece. In these two scenes, the çitola seems to be used to identify the saint as well as to illustrate the story. It seems likely that the painter of the retable would have carefully chosen how to depict the instrument of his monastery’s founder and might have consulted the recently produced luxurious manuscript of La estoria de San Millán, which named the instrument as a çitola. While the text’s copyist might simply have inserted a more familiar colloquial name in place of one with which he was less familiar (çítola for cítara or cithara), the painter seems to have had a speciic instrument in mind. Although this altarpiece illustration might not be conclusive evidence on its own that the holly leaf-shaped plucked instrument was known as a çitola, it ofers support to the other examples. A modern deinition of ‘citole’ The unrelated artists who illustrated the texts discussed above clearly considered plectrum-plucked instruments with relatively short necks and holly leaf-shaped bodies to correlate to the names sitola, cistole, cistoile, or çitola. There is still, however, some debate among current scholars about the range of names and physical characteristics that apply to the study of citoles. The criteria for citoles in this survey are based on those proposed by Wright (1977) and Young (1984).40 Wright categorized the terminology he considered relevant to the study of this instrument type into three linquistic groups: cithara-related, cetra-related and citolerelated. All of these share a common derivation from the Latin term cithara, rather than from the Greek kithara or Arabic qitara. Wright considered two of these groups, the cithara-related and cetra-related terms, to be ambiguous. Although a few illustrated medieval texts associate a plucked, necked instrument with a cithara-related term, these names were also applied to a wide variety of instruments, especially in relation to biblical texts.41 As cithara-related terms were used generically during the Middle Ages, they will not be considered here to any extent. Of Wright’s three groups of instrument names, the cetra-related terms cause the most disagreement among modern scholars. Wright identiied a diferent linguistic origin for the cetra-related terms recorded in Italian (cetera, cetra, ceterare), Castilian (cedra, cedrero) and Occitan (cedra, sidra) manuscripts than the citole-related terms found elsewhere.42 Because cetra-related names were often used ambiguously, Wright concluded that often ‘one cannot be sure if a contemporary instrument is referred to, or if so which one’ and cautioned against assuming that cetra-related terms refer to citoles unless there are ‘clear indications that an instrument with a neck is implied’. In Paradiso,43 Dante seems to ofer the only clear reference to a ‘cetra’ having a neck. In some cases the term ‘cetera’ might be a modernization of the Latin cithara of antiquity, as for example when Dante in his Convivio paraphrases Ovid’s description of Orpheus44 or in translations of biblical passages such as in Bono Giamboni’s Il Trattato di Virtú de Vizî.45 A few other sources, such as Dante’s De vulgari eloquentia and Dino Compagni’s L’intelligenza, treat the ‘cetera’ or ‘cetra’ as a vernacular medieval instrument name.46 In some Italian-language copies of Latini’s Tresor, the word ‘citole’ is replaced with ‘cetera’, suggesting that they might name the same instrument or, alternately, the name ‘citole’ was unfamiliar in Italy and the more recognizable term ‘cetera’ was substituted to make the meaning of texts clearer.47 In Castilian sources, ‘cedra’ might be a substitution for the Latin term cithara since it usually appears in biblical passages or stories set in antiquity but, given that the other instruments mentioned in those passages are medieval, cedra might also be a medieval name.48 Ferreira suggests that the term ‘cedrero’ in Castilian-Leónese sources might have been used generically to indicate any itinerant musician who played a stringed instrument, not speciically players of the ‘cedra’.49 In Gonzalo de Berceo’s hagiography of Santo Domingo de Silos, the phrase ‘non joglar nin cedrero’ suggests that a ‘cedrero’ was not the same as a ‘joglar’, but does not clarify the term any further.50 Two texts suggest that the ‘cedra’ was not the same as a ‘citola’. The Occitan poem Fadet joglar lists both ‘citolar’ (playing the citole) and playing the ‘cidra’ among the skills expected of a joglar (Table 1: O.1). In the Castilian Libro de Alexandre a short list of instruments includes ‘salterio, citola que mas trota, cedra è viola’ (Table 1: C.4). Cetra-related instrument names will be mentioned only briely in the following survey because it is not clear whether they were modernizations of the Latin word cithara, generic terms relating to medieval stringed instruments, synonymous with citole, or referred to a distinctly diferent type of medieval instrument. The following survey of literature will therefore focus on medieval citole-related terms. There are no established ‘Alioquin Deiceret Hic Instrumentum Illud Multum Vulgare’ | 21 Plate 5 (left) One of the earliest sculptures of a citole, detail of Elder 11, last quarter of the 12th century, west portal, Church of the Monastery of San Lorenzo, Carboeiro, Pontevedra, Spain (photo: A. Margerum 2006) Plate 6 (right) One of the latest depictions of a citole, detail of the ‘Musicians Window’, north transept, Lincoln Cathedral, England, c. 1385 (photo: A. Margerum 2008) criteria characterizing citole-related terminology, but when written these terms are roughly comprised from the following string of consonants: c*t*l, s*t*l, or z*t*l. The initial sibilant and the speciic choice of vowels seem to be determined by language.51 In manuscripts before 1400, citole-related terms usually have the irst vowel sound represented by ‘i’ or ‘y’. The second vowel is almost always written as ‘o’, and only rarely as ‘oi’, ‘u’ or ‘e’. Some German variants terminate with the ‘l’, as do a few English ones found in manuscripts dated after 1400. In most languages citole-related instrument names end with a inal ‘e’ or ‘a’, depending upon the language. Usually, in French, AngloNorman and English these terms end with ‘e’, as do a few instances in German. In Castilian, Occitan and GalicianPortuguese the inal vowel is ‘a’, except in the case of the variant ‘citolon’. Some spellings might indicate regional conventions in pronunciation, such as the Picard intervocalic ‘st’, or the ‘th’ in northern French and AngloNorman variants. Although there are dozens of alternate spellings, the terms most frequently occurring in the manuscripts shown in Table 1 are variants of citole, cytole, sitole (French, Anglo-Norman and English), çitola (Castilian and Occitan) and zitol (German). Regarding the form of the medieval citole, we can be certain that the holly leaf-shaped, short-necked, plectrumplucked instruments shown in Plates 1–4 were thought of as citoles, but there is some debate among modern scholars as to which other body outlines are also relevant. Comparison of images in some manuscripts suggests the outline of a citole could have bouts that were rounded rather than pointed.52 There is some debate among modern scholars regarding which other body outlines typiied citoles. Today, medieval citoles are usually considered to have had non-oval body outlines.53 (Although Cerone de Bergamo’s 17th-century comments about the ‘citola’ of his time probably related to an oval-bodied instrument, these are far too late to be pertinent to the study of the medieval citole, as is Tinctoris’s late 22 | The British Museum Citole 15th-century description of a ‘cetula’. 54) Although some other physical features, such as the tapering body depth, or deep neck with thumbhole, have been suggested as deining characteristics, these are not always discernable, especially in two-dimensional depictions. The general survey here follows Young’s 1984 assertion that the name citole corresponded with depictions of non-oval bodied instruments having the following characteristics: straight or indented sides; relatively short necks; shoulders with or without ornament; a sizable projection at the lower end that often serves as an attachment point for the strings or tailpiece; a pegbox angled back from the ingerboard; an overall depth taper deepest at the neck end; and a neck often with a thumbhole.55 The relevant citole body outlines will be referred to here as ‘holly leaf’, with pointed upper and lower bouts (Pls 1–4); ‘vase-shaped’, with a pointed upper bout and a rounded lower bout (Pls 5–6); and ‘waisted’, with incurving sides and curved upper and lower bouts (Pl. 13). In his 1984 article, Young noted that in regions where cetra-related terms were common the short necked, non-oval bodied plucked instruments depicted were morphologically somewhat diferent from those found in areas where citole-related terms were used.56 This other type of instrument had bodies with straight, indented or even rounded sides; shoulders with or without projections; a relatively uniform, shallow depth; and a pegbox that was usually lat. In sources before 1400, depictions of this other type of instrument often have body outlines similar in shape to a garden spade (Pl. 7). Some modern scholars consider instruments of this type to be citoles but doubts remain relating to this classiication. Shallow bodied, spade-shaped instruments will be included in this survey but with the caveat that they might not be citoles. The following survey of citoles from literary and pictorial sources dating from c. 1175–1400 will be limited to instrument names related to ‘citole’ and depictions of plucked, short-necked chordophones that have a non-oval body outline with straight or recessed sides, discernable upper and lower bouts (with or without ornaments) and often a projection at the lower end.57 Whether such features as the overall taper or thumbhole type neck occur frequently will be discussed in comparison with the British Museum citole following the general survey. Survey of citoles in art and literature c. 1175–1400 Given the large number of relevant sources, this ‘brief’ survey will be long but still somewhat cursory. It will attempt to provide a more complete picture of where and when the citole was popular, with what situations it was associated and who might have played it. Comparing literary and pictorial sources helps to ill gaps in the individual categories of evidence. For example, although citoles in French sculpture are scarce, citations and depictions in French manuscripts are abundant. Conversely, only a few Iberian manuscripts mention or illustrate citoles but sculptures of them in that region are numerous. The survey will begin with a few Latin sources from France, before continuing by region and starting, as the citole seems to have done, in north-western Iberia and then moving east and north. As both the instruments depicted in Italy and the names used there are diferent, Italian sources will be considered separately. Although depictions, such as those in the 9th-century French Stuttgart Psalter,58 hint at earlier possible citole-type instruments, the majority of relevant depictions occur between c. 1175 and 1390. The earliest group of these appears in northern Iberia and dates from the inal third of the 12th century (Pl. 5). In other regions, images of citoles appear later and in England they continue through to the third quarter of the 14th century, with one of the latest being a stained glass window at Lincoln Cathedral (Pl. 6). More than 180 images of citolers occur in manuscripts, sculptures, ivories, stained glass, wall paintings, memorial brasses, embroidery and enamel. Plate 8 shows the original locations or regions of origin for these images of plectrumplucked, distinct-necked, non-oval bodied chordophones.59 A wide range of vernacular texts include citole-related nomenclature: epics, romances, chansons de geste, hagiographies, fabliaux, fables, didactic and rhetorical works, as well as in translations of Latin biblical and classical works. The rise in vernacular literature during the later part of the 13th century ofered more opportunities to record colloquial instrument names and also helps explain the scarcity of citole-related terms before 1250.60 Manuscripts from the second half of the 13th century contain references to citoles in Latin, Occitan, French, Castilian, Anglo-Norman and German, indicating that by then the instrument name was already known throughout a wide geographical area. Table 1 lists at least one relevant manuscript copy dating before 1400 for each of the 60 plus literary works that include citole-related terms. In both art and literature, citoles often appear in situations that are consciously diferent from contemporaneous life: in the hands of biblical igures, angels, human/animal hybrids and animals. Although these extraordinary settings can indicate when and in what regions citoles were known or aspects of their physical form, they are less reliable records of who played the instrument or Plate 7 An example of the shallow bodied, spade-shaped instrument primarily found in Italy, detail of one of King David’s musicians, by Benedetto Antelami, after 1196. Baptistery, Parma, Emilia-Romagna, Italy (photo: A. Margerum 2006) in what combinations. As Bedbrook suggests, instrumental groupings containing biblical igures or non-human musicians are often not reliable indicators of medieval musical practice.61 Fortunately, although citolers in literature and art appear most frequently in scenes steeped in symbolism, they also appear in ones that were meant to relate true-to-life events. The general survey will give more attention to those sources that indicate the sorts of medieval people and contemporaneous situations associated with the citole. Latin texts Probably the earliest surviving evidence for the use of a citole-related term is Johannes de Garlandia’s Dictionarius from the irst half of the 13th century (Table 1: L.1).62 This widely copied handbook of everyday Latin words for university students lists ‘citola’ among the instruments being played at the house of a rich man. A brief gloss in Ms Paris, BnF, latin 11282 suggests that the term ‘citola’ was a latinized form of the French term ‘citole’, but unlike the ‘giga’, ‘choro’ or ‘tympanum’, for which there are extended glosses, the ‘citola’ seems to have been considered to be familiar enough to require no further clariication. Unfortunately, since the Dictionarius was written in Latin by an Englishman working in Paris, it does not clarify the origins of the terms ‘citola’ or ‘citole’. The only other Latin manuscript from before 1400 to include citole-related nomenclature is a treatise on music written in Paris c. 1270–5, which states that, like the ‘Alioquin Deiceret Hic Instrumentum Illud Multum Vulgare’ | 23 Plate 8 Geographical distribution of the images mentioned in this survey The points on the map represent the locations of sculptures, stained glass and paintings in situ (or their original locations if they have been moved). • = plucked, distinct-necked chordophones with waisted, holly-leaf, or vase-shaped body outlines + = plucked, distinct-necked chordophones with spatulate body outlines ◦ = related plucked chordophones identiied by other scholars (not yet seen by author) The shaded areas on the map indicate the regions where manuscripts with pertinent images were produced. Illustrations of relevant instruments have been identiied in two north-eastern German, four Italian, four Iberian, twenty English and more than thirty manuscripts from northern France or Flanders monochord, ‘cythare’ and ‘vielle’, the ‘cytole’ could be used to demonstrate the division of tones (Table 1: L.2.).63 Latin was the universal language of western Christendom so, although citoles often appear in illustrated Latin texts, such as Psalters, those images will be considered under their region of production. Iberian art: Castilian and Galician-Portuguese texts Iberian art and literature suggest that the citole was particularly popular in the kingdoms of León and Castile during the 13th century. The earliest Iberian depictions of citoles date from the late 12th century: in one copy of the Beatus Super Apocalypsim and on several Galician and Leónese church portals (Pl. 5) citoles are used to represent the citharas of the Book of Revelation.64 The variety of instruments used to represent the citharas of the Elders of the Apocalypse was very diverse on Iberian portal sculptures, often including wind and percussion instruments in addition to stringed ones. A necked chordophone with the less common spade shape also appears in the late 12th century on a church portal much further east, being plucked by an Elder of the Apocalypse at Estella in the Kingdom of Navarre. It is 24 | The British Museum Citole notably unlike the citoles found in other Iberian sources that usually have vase-shaped body outlines. During the 13th century, depictions of Elders of the Apocalypse with citoles were spread along the pilgrim routes and rivers of the recently united Kingdom of Castile and León, appearing in ecclesiastical sculptures on the churches and cathedrals at El Burgo de Osma, Burgos, Sasamón, León, Ciudad Rodrigo, Toro and La Hiniesta.65 Two human citolers appear among the musicians carved in the synodial chamber of the palace of Archbishop Gelmirez in Santiago de Compostela (c. 1250), but the presence of many crowned igures with instruments suggests this might also be a depiction of Elders of the Apocalypse. Iberian representations of medieval human citolers occur in four illuminated manuscripts, three of which are known to have been produced for the court of Alfonso X (r. 1252– 84): Libro de ajedrez dados e tablas (also known as the Book of Games)66 and two copies of the Cantigas de Santa Maria.67 The Cancioneiro da Ajuda, the only major collection of GalicianPortuguese secular songs from this period, contains eight depictions of human citole players.68 The frequency with which the citole appears in 13th-century Iberian song manuscripts suggests that it was considered suitable to accompany the sacred Cantigas de Santa Maria, the secular ‘cantigas de amor’ of the Cancioneiro da Ajuda, as well as possibly the profane ‘cantigas d’escarho e de mal dezir’. The prologue illustrations of two copies of the Cantigas de Santa Maria show representations of Alfonso X in a courtly setting with his scribes writing and musicians playing their instruments: ‘violas’ and citoles.69 Although this might be a ictionalized setting rather than an accurate portrait, it is meant to illustrate the king composing his devotional songs at court.70 One of these Cantigas manuscripts, the Códice de los Músicos, contains images of an unprecedented variety of musicians and seems intended to demonstrate the grandeur of the court.71 The instruments depicted most frequently in this manuscript, however, are the ones that also appear in the court scene: the ‘viola’ and citole. That Alfonso X might even have had a minstrel known as ‘Cítola’ is suggested by a poem credited to the king, Sátira contra el juglar Çitola, which addresses a payment dispute between the two, although no medieval copy of this poem has survived nor have any payment records naming this minstrel been identiied.72 This connection of citoles with the royal court is further suggested by a citole depicted in Alfonso X’s Book of Games, the soundboard of which is decorated with castles and lions, the symbols of the united kingdoms of Castile and León.73 The incomplete Cancioneiro da Ajuda includes 16 illustrations of musicians, eight of which feature citolers.74 Although the place of this manuscript’s creation is debated (either Castile and León or Portugal), it probably dates from the third quarter of 13th century.75 The uninished drawings of musicians often include three igures and it has been suggested that the seated igure to the left represents a composer (trobar), and the standing central igure a performer ( jograr), and the smaller igure to the right an accompanist. In half of the illustrations the standing igure is a citoler. The accompanying igure to the right of the citoler in ive of these scenes is a percussionist, in one a harpist and in the inal two it is a non-instrumentalist who might be a singer or dancer. As with most of the Iberian depictions, the citoles have vase-shaped body outlines, but the instruments are longer and seem to have larger bodies than those seen in other Iberian depictions, suggesting that perhaps the term ‘citolon’ mentioned in the ‘cantigas d’escarho’ indicated a larger ‘cítola’.76 During the 14th century Iberian representations of citoles appear more often outside of Castile and León, and no longer depict Book of Revelation scenes. In the Kingdom of Aragon, a citole appears in the hands of a sculptural angel at Valencia Cathedral and in a painting of a human musician, possibly one of King David’s musicians, at Teruel Cathedral. Angel citolers also occur in the Kingdom of Navarre in ecclesiastical sculptures at Laguardia and Pamplona (Pl. 9). The only 14th-century Leónese or Castilian citolers are two human/animal hybrids at Oviedo Cathedral carved after 1345 and the late 14th-century altarpiece from the monastery of San Millán (Pl. 4). In literary manuscripts of this period, citole-related terms occur in only six Castilian-language and two GalicianPortuguese texts.77 The three earliest Castilian texts are attributed to Alfonso X (Table 1: C.1–C.3). Two of these also Plate 9 A vase-shaped citole with anterior pegs and thumbhole neck, mid-14th century. Pamplona Cathedral cloister, Pamplona, Navarre, Spain (photo: A. Margerum 2006) contain a cetra- or cithara-related term (Table 1: C.1–C.3).78 Most of the Iberian works recount biblical stories (Table 1: C.2–C.3, P.1.) and another is a copy of a hagiography (Table 1: C.5). Two texts that recount tales from antiquity both suggest a connection between ‘joglars’ and playing the citole (Table 1: C.1, C.4). Another 14th-century GalicianPortuguese narrative (Table 1: P.2) is probably ictional history, but suggests that servants who play the ‘citola’, ‘laúde’, ‘rabeca’ and other instruments during meals and other social times might be heard at an imperial court. The latest relevant Castilian text is the aforementioned Libro de buen amor (Table 1: C.6) in which the citole appears several times: in a simile that suggests citoles accompanied dancing, an allegorical story about Lent and in a list of instruments not suitable for playing Arabic songs. Although Galician-Portuguese was used widely across Iberia as a language of lyric poetry, no medieval copies have survived of the 12 Galician-Portuguese ‘cantigas d’escarho e de mal dezir’ (insult songs) that contain anecdotes about named players of the ‘cítola’ and ‘cítolon’. This type of mocking song was written about or addressed to real people in the acquaintance of the authors. Most of these references to citolers are complaints about them by the poets for whom they worked. If the 16th-century copies can be trusted (Table 1: PX.3–PX.4), at least four citolers, Saco, Lopo, Cítola and Lourenço, were active in certain 13th-century Iberian courts. Medieval copies of love poems authored by Lopo and Lourenço have survived, but no evidence has veriied the existence of the other two. Art in southern France and Aquitaine and Occitan texts Sources relating to citoles are rare in the region south of the Loire and north of the Pyrenees. Only four representations ‘Alioquin Deiceret Hic Instrumentum Illud Multum Vulgare’ | 25 of citoles have been identiied in this region. Each of these is an angel musician that displays foreign inluence. The earliest, dating from after 1240, is a damaged sculpture at the French-inluenced Bazas Cathedral. A sculpture at Bayonne Cathedral (1258–99) and a painting at the Abbey of St Savin (14th century) each show a vase-shaped instrument possibly inluenced by earlier Iberian sources. The possible inluences, however, are even more complicated by Bazas and Bayonne having been part of English territories during this time.79 The latest representation, a holly leaf-shaped citole at Vienne Cathedral (1386–1400), shows some striking similarities to a 13th-century stained glass example at Reims Cathedral, but like Bazas, it is also on a pilgrimage route to Santiago de Compostela (Via Gebennensis). Citoles have been identiied in only four Occitan texts and one of these is debated.80 Two of the oldest relevant manuscripts are the only medieval copies of the Occitan poem Fadet joglar (Table 1: O.1), in which the ‘joglar’ is told that he should learn certain skills including to ‘citolar’ (‘sitolar’) but also play what seems to be a diferent instrument called the ‘cidra’ (‘sedra’). Modern scholars disagree whether the term ‘si’ula’, which appears in a hyperbolic list of instruments in the only surviving copy of the anonymous romance Flamenca (Table 1: O.2), is a variant name for the citole or indicates a wind instrument.81 The term ‘cithola’ in an anonymous 14th-century translation of Bartholomaeus Anglicus’ De proprietatibus rerum (Table 1: O.4) seems to be used merely as a translation of a Latin instrument name in several passages derived from the Bible and the Physiologus. Daurel et Beton (Table 1: O.3), as with Fadet joglar, indicates that the citole was associated with trained minstrels. While being prepared as a court musician, the prodigious young Beton exceeds expectation by learning the ‘citola’ as well as the ‘viola’ and ‘arpa’. Evidence relating to citoles in this region includes the earliest non-Iberian sculpture, one of the earliest manuscripts and one of the latest sculptures, but very little in between. Medieval religious politics might have been responsible for the lack of evidence relating to the citole in this region. The literary culture of the Occitan-speaking troubadours was crippled when the courts that patronized them were destroyed during the Albigensian Crusade against the Cathar heresy (1209–29). During the remainder of 13th century the subsequent religious inquisition and cultural suppression also resulted in the destruction of many Occitan manuscripts. Alternately, the citole might never have been very popular in this region and the few citoles that occur here could have been the result of foreign inluences. Northern French and Flemish art, and continental langue d’oïl texts In northern France, however, the citole seems to have been very popular. The largest body of relevant manuscript sources, both literary and representational, originate in a historically langue d’oïl speaking area which extended across parts of what is now northern France and much of Belgium.82 In this region, images of citoles begin to appear in diverse manuscripts during the second quarter of the 13th century and continue through to at least the third quarter of the 14th century.83 During this period, at least 26 French and 10 26 | The British Museum Citole Flemish manuscripts contain depictions of citoles.84 If we exclude the Latin Dictionarius (Table 1: L.1), the earliest French manuscript to mention citoles dates from c. 1250–75 (Table 1: F.1). A signiicant number of works that include citole-related terms continued to be written in French during the 1370s, and a translator’s preface to the Metz Psalter (Table 1: F.35) suggests that readers of that time were still familiar with the instrument.85 Thirty-nine French-language texts have been identiied which contain a citole-related term in at least one surviving copy from between c. 1250–1400.86 Northern French and Flemish manuscripts portray citoles in the hands of a wide variety of musicians. Most frequently these are angels, followed by human/animal hybrids and then human musicians. Citolers among King David’s musicians or in scenes from the Book of Revelation are much less common. Animal citolers or human ones in allegorical scenes appear least often. Two manuscript illustrations include citoles in depictions of Musica instrumentalis.87 One of these (MS: Florence, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Plut. 29. I. f. A.), among the earliest relevant French depictions, includes two possible citoles: one of which seems to have a thumbhole type neck and the other an unsupported neck. In a mid-13th-century copy of Aristotle’s Ethics, a historiated initial ‘M’ containing a harper and rare left-handed citoler begins a passage which likens the method of acquiring virtue to the manner by which citharœdi (cithara players) acquire their skill – by practice. This suggests that the illustrator might have considered both instruments to be suitable translations of cithara, but also that learning to play them required study and that their players could be associated with virtue.88 At least ten more human citolers, who are not obviously biblical igures, appear in the margins of manuscripts. Two of these human citolers appear in a copy of the Romance of Alexander each among a multitude of other instrumentalists.89 It is unclear whether a human citoler in another manuscript is seated alone in the margins or at the feet of Jesus who appears in the adjacent initial.90 In three further manuscripts, on pages where no other instruments are shown, a citoler and a medieval iddler both appear in the marginalia.91 The greatest number of these marginal human citolers play unaccompanied in scenes of dancing (although one of these plays for a dancing dog).92 Two male citolers play for individual male dancers.93 Another seems to dance with a female dancer.94 A female citoler appears in the initial ‘O’ of a Latin song devoted to the Virgin Mary, while a small male igure dances in the margin.95 The human citolers depicted in French and Flemish manuscripts, although they often seem removed from any obvious context, suggest that both women and men played the citole and indicate strong links between this instrument and the medieval iddle and with dancing. Given the large number of existing manuscript illustrations, it is remarkable how few citoles are found in artworks in situ in this region. Surviving sculptural examples include a mid-13th-century Elder of the Apocalypse at Reims Cathedral, a late 13th-century human animal/hybrid at Rouen Cathedral and two tiny early 14th-century angels on Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris. Another tiny angelic citoler appears in a carved ivory triptych from Paris, dated 1300–10.96 Two Flemish 14th-century memorial brasses include citolers among the marginal musicians.97 Representations of angels with citoles also occur in medieval stained glass at Reims Cathedral (late 13th century) and Évreux (c. 1320–33) (Pl. 10). Given the scale of destruction in this region from military conlicts, as well as iconoclasm, the more immovable depictions of citoles may have been lost during later centuries, or citoles might always have been uncommon in the monumental art of this area. The citole seems to have been familiar enough to French-speaking authors that they could include it in meaningful ways in texts inspired by classical authors and in metaphors. Two texts loosely based on works by Ovid give indications of medieval musical practice (Table 1: F.14, F.39). Le clef d’amors recommends that it is noble and worthwhile for young women to learn to sing and play instruments such as the ‘psalterïon’, ‘timbre’, ‘guiterne’ or ‘citholle’. La vieille includes the ‘cistole’ among the long list of instruments suitable to play a variety of music: ‘motez, balades, virelais, comedies, rondeauls’ and ‘lais’. When translating Aristotle, both Brunetto Latini and Nicole Oresme choose to use the citole in metaphors relating to a skill which requires practice to master (Table 1: F.4, F.34). Several texts suggest that the sound of the citole is sweet, either overtly (Table 1: F.37) or allegorically (Table 1: F.4, F.28). The phrase ‘à canter sans chistole’ (‘to sing without a citole’), used to indicate hardship or misery in Baudouin de Sebourc (Table 1: F.20), strongly indicates that citoling was associated with singing. These sources suggest that the citole was a respected and melodious instrument that required skill to play well. It is in French-language literary works that the citole is most often included in descriptions of medieval settings, both courtly and more mundane.98 Citoles frequently appear among extensive lists of instruments used to augment the sense of grandeur at weddings, coronations or other celebrations (Table 1: F.1, F.5, F.13, F.15, F.23, F.24, F.31, F.32). Guillame de Machaut’s La prise d’Alexandrie (Table 1: F.32) is the only example of this sort of grand list that purports to record a contemporaneous event: the arrival of Pierre of Lusignan, King of Cyprus, with his crusaders at the court of the Holy Roman Emperor in Prague in 1364. That list of instruments resembles one appearing in Guillame de Machaut’s earlier Le remède de fortune (Table 1: F.31). A similar reception scene is described in the romance Durmart le Galois although in this case the arrival of the king’s son is greeted by a modest variety of instruments including ‘vieles’, ‘harpes’, ‘gigues’, ‘psalteres’ and ‘citoles’ (Table 1: F.12). In Li roumans de Cléomadès, written by the minstrel-King Adenet le Roi, a famous minstrel is described as owning every sort of instrument that was worth any money and ‘citoles’ are among the ten types of stringed instrument mentioned (Table 1: F.11). Citoles also appear in tales originating from oral tradition such as in a variety of Renart stories, in which animals parody medieval manners (Table 1: F.2, F.9, F.10, F.18, F.21). Gilles li Muisis recalls students having played chistolles in Paris when he was young, in the late 1300s (Table 1: F.29). Citoles also appear in three fabliaux, comic stories about everyday life. One of these uses ‘Ainz li tent com corde a citole’ (‘as tight as a citole string’) in a simile to indicate something that is stretched very taut (Table 1: F.6). Another Plate 10 Vase-shaped citoles are rare in France except when they have ornamented shoulders, as at Évreux Cathedral, HauteNormandie, c. 1320–33 (photo: A. Margerum 2007) fabliau mentions ‘violes, tabours et citoles’ in connection with dancing and the delights of minstrelsy (Table 1: F7). In the third, one of two ‘jongleurs’, debating who is more accomplished, boasts that he can perform all kinds of poetry and play ‘citole’, ‘viele’ and ‘gigue’ (Table 1: F.8). In a song for which music survives, the narrator recounts playing the citole for a nightingale to make it sing (Table 1: F.16). That the citole was strongly associated with skilled performers is suggested by Le tournoiement de l’Antéchrist and Li lays dou blanc chevalier in which souls are described as carrying with them after death the tools of their earthly trade and a ‘jongleor’ and ‘menestrel’, respectively, each have only a citole to symbolize their occupation (Table 1: F.3, F.27). French sources of the period indicate that the citole was a familiar instrument associated with dancing and skilled musicians. English art, and Anglo-Norman and English texts In England, the citole seems to have been most popular during the reigns of Edward I, Edward II and Edward III, and especially in the irst half of the 14th century. Of the two dozen named citolers in English documentary records from 1269–1380, only two appear before 1300.99 Citoles are found in English art from the mid-13th century until c. 1385. The popularity of the citole in England seems to have waned by the end of the 14th century, but given that authors such as John Lydgate continued to write new works mentioning citoles well into the 15th century, it is diicult to tell exactly when the instrument became obscure.100 By far the greatest number of citolers depicted in English art are angels, although in manuscripts they are also common among King David’s musicians. Citole-playing humans, animals and human/animal hybrids occur less frequently. The earliest English sculpture of a citoler is a mid-13th-century angel at Westminster Abbey and the latest an angel at the parish church in Thaxted, Essex, which was carved after 1377.101 Despite extensive destruction of church ‘Alioquin Deiceret Hic Instrumentum Illud Multum Vulgare’ | 27 sculptures by 16th and 17th-century iconoclasts, a surprising number of English images of citoles have survived.102 In a few cases, the instrument remains although the musician has been defaced or decapitated.103 Unfortunately, later repairs to some of these damaged sculptures, such as at Beverley Minster, seem to have added spurious details to the instruments.104 A few 14th-century stained glass panels contain images of citolers: a human;105 a human animal/ hybrid 106 and two with angels (Pl. 6).107 Two remarkable late 13th or early 14th-century Opus Anglicanum embroidered ecclesiastical garments survive, now in Bologna and Madrid, each of which includes a citoler among the musical angels.108 Images of citolers appear in at least 20 English manuscripts dating from the third quarter of the 13th century to 1362 (Pl. 13). Possibly the earliest of these manuscript illustrations, in a Book of Hours attributed to William of Devon, shows a line of dancers between a citoler and medieval iddler.109 When human citolers appear in English manuscripts they are usually in scenes of dancing or among King David’s musicians.110 The Tickhill Psalter contains one of the few images of a woman playing a citole, but this is in a clearly biblical scene.111 It is not surprising that a citole appears in an illustration of instruments suitable to be played before a king in Walter de Milemete’s treatise on good kingship written for Edward III prior to his coronation,112 since the manuscript was produced at a time when there were at least two king’s citolers in the English court.113 Only two English sculptures have been identiied that possibly depict contemporaneous humans playing the citole. The most puzzling of these is also the earliest: a sculpture of a human citoler with his feet in stocks at Higham Ferrers, Northamptonshire, dated 1269–70. Henderson suggests this might represent a biblical or allegorical igure.114 The citoler in the stocks might also be an admonitory igure, either a depiction of a known story, such as a Miracle of the Virgin,115 or an actual contemporaneous minstrel.116 The only other human citoler in English sculpture is a solitary igure at Cley next the Sea, Norfolk, who is carved on one side of a pillar with a medieval iddler on the opposite face.117 Unfortunately, neither of these reveals much about citolers in England. Although the earliest surviving English-language manuscripts to include citole-related terms date from the late 14th century (Table 1: E.1–E.4), the earliest Anglo-Norman example is from many decades earlier (Table 1: A.1). Prior to the last third of the 14th century, the language of the English court and much of the literary culture in England was Anglo-Norman. John Gower (c. 1330–1408) ofers a useful example of the shift from Anglo-Norman to English as the language of literature; both of Gower’s major vernacular language works contain mention of citoles, the earlier of which, Mirour de l’Omme (Table 1: A.5) was written in French and the later, Confessio Amantis (Table 1: E.4), in English. Anglo-Norman citole references can be diicult to diferentiate from French ones. For example, a volume of London laws and customs (Table 1: A.2) includes a cytole in a metaphor but that phrase seems to have been borrowed from the section on good government in Brunetto Latini’s Tresor (Table 1: F.4). Probably the earliest surviving relevant manuscript from England is the Anglo-Norman Fouke Fitz Warin (Table 1: 28 | The British Museum Citole A.1). Although a ictionalized history based on 12th and 13th-century events, the only medieval copy dates from the early 14th century.118 This text suggests that male amateurs might also have played the citole. Johan de Rampayne, a knight ighting against King John, is described as knowing enough about ‘tabour, harpe, viele, sitole e joglerie’ (A.1) to be able to impersonate a high-status performer in order to iniltrate the court of King John at Shrewsbury Castle and rescue a prisoner. Johan arrives at the castle disguised as an Ethiopian minstrel, dressed as richly as any count or baron and riding a ine palfrey. The speciic instruments named also seem to have been chosen to indicate status as well as occupation. For the narrative to be believable, however, the knight needed to perform well enough on these instruments not to be discovered as a spy. La geste Blanchelour e de Florence also suggests that playing the citole is a genteel pastime but, given the large number of instruments mentioned in succession, it has also been proposed that this might be a vocabulary list (Table 1: A.3).119 In the Arthurian tale, Libeaus Desconus, the dwarf Teodelain, who is renowned for playing citole, sautrie, harpe, iþele and crouþe, dresses in Indian silk like a knight who has never known poverty (Table 1: E.6). In the same way as other regions, the citole is also included in descriptions of festivities (Table 1: E.7, E.8). What is notable about English descriptions of citolers is their relatively high status and expensive attire. As in French, a few Anglo-Norman and English texts employ citoles in metaphors. Several texts ofer comments about the sound of the citole, one suggesting that it is delicate (Table 1: E.3) and two warn against persuasive speech that is sweeter than the sound of a citole (Table 1: A.4–A.5). In an allegory, John Gower suggests that loud instruments are the sounds of Youth, but with Old Age comes more stately dances like the ‘hovedance’ and the ‘carole’ and soft instruments as ‘with harpe and lute and with citole’ (Table 1: E.4). Although Wright implies that the citole was considered antiquated by the 1380s because it does not appear in scenes of medieval revelry in The Canterbury Tales (Table 1: E.1), it might have been absent because it was a genteel instrument rather than an obsolete one.120 While the citole only appears once (in the hand of a statue of Venus), by contrast the three occasions on which Chaucer mentions the gittern, it is always associated with the tavern. Venus’s citole in Chaucer’s tale might well be a symbol of culture, virtue or luxury, given the literary convention of the period, whereby an object held by Venus often indicates the facet of her character being presented.121 Chaucer’s contemporary John Gower mentions the only other female citolers in English literature. Gower’s Apollonius of Tyre, set in antiquity, includes two female citole players both of whom are princesses: Apollonius’s future wife and their daughter. Apollonius’s kidnapped daughter earns her living, and is saved from working in a brothel by teaching other young gentlewomen to play the harp and citole. In a metaphor in his other major work, Gower describes how ‘Lady Avarice keeps a school where everyone goes to study, not to learn to play [la citole]…’ (Table 1: A.5).122 Gower seems to suggest that teaching the citole would have been a believable occupation for ladies. Although Chaucer and Gower recount classical tales, a few late 14th-century English texts describe the citole in medieval contexts. While weeping over his lost estates, Sir Cleges seems to hear the sound of ‘dyuerse mynstralsy’, including the ‘sytall’ (Table 1: E.5). Sir Launfal recalls when his court had ‘menstrales of moch honours, fydelers, sytolyrs, and trompours’ (Table 1: E.2). On the other hand, Sir Degrevant, in the eponymous text written shortly after 1400, plays the ‘cetoyle’ and other stringed instruments for his own pleasure (Table 1: EX.9). This suggests that in late 14th century England the citole might have been considered somewhat old-fashioned, but it had not diminished in status. German art and German texts German art and literature suggests that the citole was best known in the north-western part of the Germanic states of the Holy Roman Empire during the late 13th and early 14th century, but images of the citole also appeared sporadically later and further aield. The representations of the citole in this region are diverse in medium and location. No German depictions have been identiied before the fourth quarter of the 13th century and most date from before the middle of the 14th century. Probably the earliest German images of citoles are the two monumental sculptures among the angelic musicians on the choir pillars in Cologne Cathedral, dating from after 1286. It is worth noting that at Cologne Cathedral the most frequently depicted medieval stringed instrument is the citole (more common even than the harp) and seems to relect the period of the instrument’s greatest popularity in this region (c. 1286–1340).123 Inside the cathedral, four citolers are carved into the wooden choir stalls (1308–11): a human/ animal hybrid on a bench end, a male human on an armrest, the bust of a female human on a misericord and a male playing for a female dancer on a bench end (Pl. 11). Two citole-playing angels appear: one in the stained glass (c. 1330) and another in a choir wall painting (c. 1330). The human/ animal hybrid citolers cast into the west façade doors and an angelic citoler on the south portal, however, are 19th-century creations.124 Almost all of the other German depictions are angelic citolers, except for a siren on Strasbourg Cathedral (c. 1300). Unfortunately, two frequently published sculptures of angelic citolers from the west façade of Strasbourg Cathedral have been heavily restored and may contain erroneous details.125 Only two German manuscripts are known to contain images of citolers, one from Rulle, Lower Saxony, and one from Prüm, Westeifel, both of which depict angels.126 Paintings depict two citolers among the angel musicians on an early 14th-century mural in Lübeck, and another on a mid-14th-century altarpiece from Soest, now in the Bode Museum, Berlin. Several angels, with peculiarly rectangular instruments that are possibly citoles, appear at Erfurt Cathedral on a bench end and several inials from the mid-14th century. Carved ivory panels from two mid- to late 14th-century German diptychs each show a citoler among angel musicians.127 Only one relevant image seems to date from after the mid-14th century, a Niedersachsen processional lantern, decorated with musical angels, now at Wienhausen Abbey, Lüneburg. With the exception of Cologne, artistic evidence for citoles in the Germanic Holy Plate 11 A male citoler plays for a female dancer on a bench end in the choir stalls of Cologne Cathedral, North Rhine Westphalia, Germany, 1308–11 (photo: A. Margerum 2007) Roman Empire is not very plentiful but occurs in a variety of media and is geographically widespread. Only ive German-language texts containing a citolerelated term survive in manuscripts dated before 1400. In German texts citoles usually seem to appear in lists of instruments: in settings of grandeur (Table 1: G.1); among pastimes to console ladies while their husbands are on crusade (Table 1: G.2); and in heavenly splendour (Table 1: G.4), but a 14th-century social commentary didactic poem ofers a much shorter list of instruments in relation to ‘viedelern’ (iddlers), speciically ‘ein welhisch videllîn, ein herpfelîn und ein zitolîn’ (Table 1: G.3). Morant und Galie, written c. 1320–50 but surviving only in 15th-century manuscripts, lists instruments played at a feast including the ‘zitole’ for which one goes to school in Paris (Table 1: GX.6). This might refer to the ‘escoles’ where minstrels from around Europe gathered during Lent to hone their skills rather than a school speciically for playing the citole, but this is not certain. That the players of citoles could go to Paris for training, however, suggests some amount of mobility and means. Italian art and Italian texts The matter of citoles in Italy is contentious. If citoles were found in Italy, they were uncommon and physically diferent from those found elsewhere. Despite the large quantity of surviving 13th and 14th-century Italian art, only a handful of non-oval bodied plucked chordophones has been identiied.128 A sculpture of one of King David’s musicians at the Baptistery in Parma (Pl. 7), dated after 1196, is often considered to be one of the earliest representations of a citole. However, the instrument bears more resemblance to 13th and 14th-century Italian images than to contemporaneous citoles found in north-western Iberian sculptures (compare to Pl. 5). Features of the Parma instrument, such as the spade-shaped ‘Alioquin Deiceret Hic Instrumentum Illud Multum Vulgare’ | 29 substantial than a feather quill (note the arrow-shaped plectrum shown in Pl. 1). Dante clearly considers ‘cetra’ to be a contemporaneous medieval term, since he uses it as an example in De vulgari eloquentia, his essay advocating the use of the vernacular.135 It seems logical to suggest that the medieval necked instrument that Dante calls the ‘cetra’ was the shallow bodied, spade-shaped, necked chordophone found in Italy at the same time and that it was this instrument that developed into what Tinctoris calls the ‘cetula’. Unfortunately, no illustrated text or labelled image has yet conirmed what the exact features of a ‘cetra’ were. Although some modern scholars associate these Italian sources with the citole, there is reason to doubt whether either this instrument type or these cetra-related names applied to medieval citoles. As discussed earlier, cetra-related terms are often unclear. Morphologically, the shallowbodied, spade-shaped, plucked instrument found in Italy seems to have been either a regional variant or possibly a distinctly diferent instrument type. Even if we include these possible variants, the citole was rare in Italy. Regional morphological traits in citole depictions and the British Museum citole Plate 12 A human/animal hybrid with a variant holly leaf citole that has a thumbhole but no animal head, 1326–36. Cloister roof boss, Norwich Cathedral, Norwich (photo: A. Margerum 2006) body outline, shallow body of relatively uniform depth, lat peghead with frontally inserted pegs and unsupported neck itted with large raised block frets, also appear in the early 14th-century paintings of Elders of the Apocalypse with their instruments in the lower Basilica of St Francis in Assisi (see Chapter 10, Pl. 9) and an angel musician on the polyptych of Valle Romita by Gentile da Fabriano (Pinacoteca di Brera, Milan) dating from c. 1400. It is worth noting that many of the physical details of these instruments resemble Johannes Tinctoris’s description of the late 15th-century ‘cetula’, which he claimed was invented by the Italians.129 The few images of plucked non-oval chordophones in 13th- and 14th-century Italian manuscripts also display instruments with similar features.130 The plectra shown in 14th-century Italian sources appear to be considerably thinner than the citole plectra depicted in other regions, which are more substantial and sometimes carved into decorative shapes or attached to a string (Pls 1, 4). During this period, plucked chordophones with spade-shaped body outlines rarely appear outside of the Italian states but, of those that do, only the late 12th-century instrument at Estella (north-eastern Spain) has a clearly unsupported neck and lat peghead.131 Meanwhile, the only Italian-language manuscripts identiied as containing references to the ‘citole’ are a few 13th and 14th-century translations of Brunetto Latini’s Li livres dou tresor.132 Other Italian translations of this work replace ‘citole’ with ‘cetera’.133 Several 14th-century Italian commentators on Dante’s Divine Comedy conirm that the ‘cetra’ was a necked stringed instrument and Francesco da Buti indicates that it was plucked with a quill.134 The plectra of citoles elsewhere are usually depicted as being more 30 | The British Museum Citole Although a masterwork of medieval carving, in many ways the British Museum citole is not an unusual instrument. Beneath the elaborate decoration, the form and structure of the medieval portions of the instrument are very much like those of citoles found in art. Although some modern scholars have questioned whether groupings of instruments shown in art accurately relect performance practice, the 13th-century English Queen Mary Psalter demonstrates that whether citoles appear in the hands of angels, biblical igures, hybrid monsters or human musicians, the physical details of the instruments are often consistently depicted.136 Representations of citoles in the areas surveyed above share some characteristics, but also demonstrate regional traits. The discussion of which of these features were regional and which were widespread is probably most enlightening in relation to the British Museum citole. Unfortunately, many original parts of the instrument are lost such as the soundboard, ingerboard, frets, strings, bridge and plectrum. The medieval portion of the British Museum citole is the superb monoxylic body, in which the neck, back and sides of the instrument are constructed from a single piece of wood. This construction method is common amongst the few other surviving medieval stringed instruments and it has been suggested that this might also have been characteristic of citoles. Unfortunately, this can be neither proven nor disproven. According to citoles in art, some of the seemingly distinctive physical features of the British Museum citole’s body, such as the overall taper, thumbhole type neck, anterior peg placement (which was altered later) and the large tri-lobed end projection, seem to have been quite typical for a medieval citole. The tapering depth and presence of a thumbhole seems to have been common on citoles in most regions.137 Clear depictions of citoles with both tapering bodies and thumbhole type necks are found on sculptures in Spain (one of four on the west portal at Toro; one of two at the Gelmirez Palace in Santiago; Valencia; and Pamplona (Pl. 9)), Plate 13 (left) Two-dimensional representations often show only the front view of the instrument, offering no details about the sides and depth of the instrument or the type of neck, as with this waisted citole from the top margin of a charter granting Aquitaine to Edward the Black Prince, English, 1362–3. MS London, NA, E30/1105 (photo: Steven A. Walton 2008) Plate 14 (right) This Elder of the Apocalypse is the only clear depiction of a citole with a tapering body depth and an unsupported (non-thumbhole) neck, c. 1235. La Portada del Sarmental, Burgos Cathedral, Burgos, Spain (photo: A. Margerum 2006) England (Norwich (Pl. 12) and Cley next the Sea), Germany (Cologne and Strasbourg) and France (Rouen), as well as a wall painting in southern France (St Savin) and a stained glass panel in England (Lincoln (Pl. 6)).138 Both of these details are rarely evident in manuscripts, however, because of a tendency by artists to show only the front view of instruments.139 Similarly, it is usually not possible to determine details of the back. Some sculptures show clearly tapered body depths, but details of the neck cannot be determined because the neck is too damaged, poorly deined or obscured by the player’s hand.140 Citoles with tapering body depth but obscured or damaged necks can be seen in Spain (Toro, one on the north portal, and three out of four on the west portal; Sasamón; León; the other sculpture at Gelmirez Palace; El Burgo de Osma; La Hiniesta; Oviedo; and Laguardia), Aquitaine (Bayonne), France (Reims), England (Exeter and Cogges, Oxfordshire). In fact, the only citole sculpture identiied as having a pronounced overall taper but a neck that is obviously not of the thumbhole type is at Burgos Cathedral (Pl. 14), which has an unsupported neck and bent-back pegbox. Three sculptures in Cologne Cathedral (Pl. 11) and two at Tewkesbury Abbey show citoles with clearly depicted thumbholes but, although the instrument is deepest at the neck, it is unclear whether the depth of the body tapers.141 By their inherent twodimensionality, manuscript illustrations are usually less clear about whether an instrument tapers in depth but several French, Flemish, English and German examples show necks with round, oval or even triangular thumbholes.142 Images of thumbholes as handholes are rare and occur only in manuscripts.143 The British Museum citole conirms another detail that is shown in depictions: oval thumbholes were relatively small and did not extend under the full length of the neck (Pls 6, 11–12). A description in the poem Le tournoi de Chauvency, which recounts the events of an actual tournament that took place in 1285, suggests that something about the structure of the heads of citoles was distinctive (Table 1: F.17). Although the earliest surviving copies date from a few decades later, that was still during the period of greatest popularity for the citole. In this account, a prop used as part of a pastoral dance is described as having a handle carved like the head of a citole (‘Tailliéz au chief d’une citole’).144 The instrument that plays for the dancers, however, is a ‘viole’. This indicates that in some way the heads of citoles were noticeably diferent from the heads of ‘violes’. Although this might merely indicate an animal head inial, it is tempting to suggest that this refers to a thumbhole type neck, since carved heads appear on other instruments, but the thumbhole type neck does not. It is not surprising that the British Museum citole has a carved head. Citoles with clearly depicted animal heads appear in sculpture in Spain (three citoles on the west portal at Toro have animal heads, the fourth is too damaged to discern) and in France (Bayonne) as well as in stained glass in England (Lincoln) and France (one of the two citoles at Évreux, the head of the other is obscured (Pl. 10)) and in numerous English and French manuscripts.145 Although depictions show thumbhole type necks both with and without decorated terminals to the peg end, animal head inials, such as that on the British Museum citole, were probably a common feature of more decorated instruments. As has been discussed by several modern authors, the original placement of the tuning pins on the British Museum citole would have been as anterior insertions into the end grain of the neck.146 Although details of peg placement are often missing in art, roughly T-shaped anterior pegs are shown at Burgos (c. 1235) (Pl. 14), Exeter Cathedral (1340s), Toro (1284–95), Laguardia (14th century) and Pamplona (mid-14th century) (Pl. 9). 147 An end projection, like that shown on the British Museum citole, is a common feature of citoles but the trefoil shape seems to be a regional variation. Large three-lobed end-projections occur frequently in English, French, Flemish ‘Alioquin Deiceret Hic Instrumentum Illud Multum Vulgare’ | 31 and German depictions (Pls 1, 3, 6, 10, 12–13), but not in Iberian art where the end projections are smaller and unornamented (Pls 9, 14). Body outline is another aspect of citole morphology that shows regional variation. The British Museum citole, with its rounded lower bout and squared upper bout with small rounded terminations at the shoulders is a variant of the ‘vase shape’.148 The vase-shaped body outline is non-existent in German depictions, almost all of which display corners to the lower bout (Pl. 11) and are variations of the holly leaf shape.149 The vase shape is almost ubiquitous for Iberian citoles from c. 1230–1350, although other body shapes appear in some of the earlier and later examples. In the majority of French and Flemish depictions, the shape of the upper bout usually agrees with the shape of the lower bout; therefore if the lower bout is pointed so are the upper bout corners (Pls 2–3). Only a few French depictions that show a rounded lower bout do not have a matching rounded upper bout. Often these have leury shoulder projections, such as in the stained glass at Évreux (Pl. 10). English citoles show the greatest variety in body outlines from any region, but variations of the vase shape are not uncommon, appearing from at least the c. 1269 sculpture at Higham Ferrers to the c. 1385 stained glass at Lincoln (Pl. 6). One morphological feature of the British Museum citole’s body outline marks it out as English: the bump in the centre bout. These seem to occur only in English images, such as the Opus Anglicanum ‘Bologna Cope’, the Sutton Valence altarpiece and the treatise of Walter de Milemete (fol. 31v). Medieval depictions of citoles can give some indication of how the British Museum citole probably would have looked before it was converted into a violin. The original soundboard would most likely have had a single round soundhole with a rosette. Several images show the rosette as a diferent colour from the soundboard, which suggests that the rosette was inset.150 The citole would also probably have had a fretted ingerboard that was long enough to extend over the soundboard, possibly even as long as half the strings’ vibrating length. The strings would have been plucked with a long and relatively substantial plectrum, not a quill. Since the plectra are usually shown touching the strings between the soundhole and the bridge, the bridge would have been placed on the lower third of the soundboard. The strings probably would have been made of gut.151 The strings are likely to have been grouped into pairs. Some images clearly show pairs of strings (Pl. 4) but others imply this by depicting twice as many pegs as strings (Pl. 6). The strings might have been attached to a tailpiece, but more commonly they are shown as fastened directly to a ring or button on the end projection. Artistic representations suggest that the lower attachment point would have likely been where the later lion’s head button on the British Museum citole is now. Although the decorative carvings on the British Museum citole make it an extraordinary artwork, many of its morphological features are rather ordinary for a citole. The British Museum citole also corroborates aspects of citole morphology found in art, such as the overall taper in depth, with it thinnest at the large end projection and deepest near the thumbhole, and the relative small size of the thumbhole. 32 | The British Museum Citole The overall taper, thumbhole, animal head inial and anterior peg placement are found in depictions of citoles regardless of region. A few elements, however, seem to be regional characteristics, such as the large trefoil-shaped end projection. While the style of the carving might be English or French, the overall length152 and the British Museum citole’s vase-shaped body outline with its centre bout bumps indicates that it was probably made in England. Conclusion The citole was a relatively well-known and high-status instrument in certain areas of Europe during the Middle Ages, but since then has been both misunderstood and unfairly neglected by scholars. Illustrated texts from the period verify that plucked instruments with non-oval bodies and short necks were called by citole-related names in the 13th and 14th centuries. References to citoles appear in more than 60 literary texts preserved in manuscripts dated before 1400 (and in a further 40 medieval texts copied between 1400–1550). Images of more than 180 citoles have been identiied in artworks in a variety of media. English legal documents and payment records name more than two dozen citolers, at least ive of whom were associated with the English royal court.153 Six citolers have also been identiied in French legal documents, one in Navarrese receipts and possibly another four in Galician-Portuguese poetry. Most remarkably, the citole is among the handful of medieval stringed instruments to have survived, and although it has been altered over the centuries, its beautifully carved medieval body can be seen in the British Museum. And yet, until recently, the citole has remained obscure in modern times. The map in Plate 8 shows that although the citole was well known in several parts of Europe it was relatively geographically contained. References to and images of the citole proliferated after the middle of the 13th century, especially in the sculptures of northern Iberia and England and in manuscript illuminations from England, northern France and Flanders. It is in these areas that the citole seems to have been most popular. In Iberia the citole is rarely found south of the River Duero. In northern continental Europe, the citole appears most frequently north of the River Seine and rarely east of the Rhine. It has been found throughout England, but not in Wales, Scotland or Ireland. In Germany and southern France citoles were much less common. Italian non-oval bodied plucked instruments of the period were physically diferent from the citole found elsewhere, but even if these were a regional variant of the citole, they appear very rarely. Similarly, citole-related terms are found least often in Italian, Occitan and Germanlanguage manuscripts from the period and most frequently in French, English, Anglo-Norman and Castilian texts. In both art and literature the citole was found almost exclusively in Atlantic Europe. During the period of its greatest popularity, the citole appeared irst in north-western Iberia and then spread primarily east and northwards. The Camino Francés, the major pilgrim route from France to Santiago de Compostela, was already dotted with sculptures of Elders of the Apocalypse with citoles by the time citolers began to be depicted in northern French and Flemish manuscripts. The citole does not seem to have been a signiicant instrument in langue d’oc speaking areas, so it is perhaps not surprising that the earliest southern French sculpture, at Bazas dated c. 1240, is on a French pilgrim route to Santiago de Compostela, the Camino de Limoges. The majority of surviving 13th-century sculptures of citolers are Elders on church portals in Castile and León. The prominence of citolers at the court of Alfonso X might have inluenced musical fashion and promoted the use of citoles elsewhere. It has been suggested that Eleanor of Castile, Alfonso X’s half-sister, introduced the citole into England in 1254 when she married the future king Edward I. Although the citole irst appears in English art around this time, no citolers have been identiied in royal payment records until the 14th century, many years after Eleanor’s death. After northern Iberia, France seems to have been the next region to favour the citole. By the mid-13th century, citolers appear north of the River Seine in sculptures and stained glass as well as in manuscripts and images of them proliferate quickly thereafter. Given that France has often set cultural and artistic trends, it was probably through French inluence that the citole was introduced into England and parts of Germany. The understanding of citoles has been ill served by the citole being discussed as if it were merely a transitional step in the development of some later instrument, usually the cittern or guitar. Images of the citole demonstrate a relatively consistent morphology over a period of two centuries (c. 1175–1385) and the British Museum citole veriies many of those characteristic physical features. Although the citole may have inluenced the development of later instruments, that was not its purpose. The medieval citole was a fully developed instrument type in its own right. The medieval body of the British Museum citole is informative about the physical details of citoles, but also relective of its social status. Although several physical details of the British Museum citole might seem unusual to the modern viewer, such as the signiicant diference in depth between the shallow lower end and the thick head end, the relatively small hole cut in the deep neck to allow access for the thumb, pegs that were originally inserted anteriorly into the end-grain of the neck and the large trefoil-shaped projection on the lower end, representations of citoles in art verify that these were typical features of medieval citoles. Although it is not known for whom the British Museum citole was made, this is a luxury object. The earliest manuscript identiied as mentioning a citole describes it as one of the instruments that would be seen being played in the house of a rich man (Table 1: L.1). In both literature and art, citoles were also associated with noble households and royal courts. The British Museum citole might have been made for a wealthy amateur citoler, even possibly a noble lady, but it seems most likely to have been made for a wealthy patron and to be played by a trained musician. A skilled minstrel performing on such a fabulous instrument would make an extremely clear statement about the owner’s sense of culture and prosperity. Although it is very tempting to suggest that the British Museum citole was made for one of the English royal citolers since aspects of this majestic instrument seem to indicate an English origin and the courts of Edward II and Edward III had several citolers, there is no irrefutable proof for this. Like many material possessions, the British Museum citole was probably a symbol of wealth and status, but it was not merely for decoration. This masterpiece of medieval carving seems to have been made to be played and the player was most likely someone who was part of, or moved in, aluent society. When the annotator of MS Brussels, BR 21069 (Pl. 1) commented that the sitola was a ‘very common’ instrument, it seems more likely that he meant ‘frequently occurring’ rather than ‘low-status’. This is conirmed by the sorts of people usually connected with the citole in contemporaneous medieval scenes in art and literature. Although Gilles li Muisis’ poetic reminiscence about university students playing citoles for fun after classes in the streets of Paris was written almost a half century after the incidents he recounts (Table 1: F.29), citoles are mentioned in Parisian teaching texts such as the Dictionarius (Table 1: L.1) and Magister Lambertus’s music theory treatise (Table 1: L.2), which suggests that Parisian students probably had some familiarity with them. Because a university education was rare, these citole-playing Parisian students would have had a relatively high status. Playing the citole seems to be regarded as a taught skill in literary sources. A metaphor used by Gower indicates that there may have been schools for playing the citole (Table 1: A.5) and a German text refers to going to Paris to learn to play it (Table 1: GX.6). Two possible teachers of the citole appear in tax records, one in Paris and one in Oxford.154 Although occurring in an ancient setting, Gower also suggests that genteel women might have taught other women to play the citole (Table 1: E.4). A few French and German literary sources recommend playing the citole as an acceptable pastime for women (Table 1: F.37, G.2), but otherwise female citolers do not seem to be mentioned in medieval situations. Female citolers are also rare in art, appearing on a misericord in Cologne, in a northern French music manuscript and in a biblical scene in an English Psalter. English and French legal documents demonstrate that some medieval women did play the citole.155 Some Anglo-Norman and English texts suggests that gentlemen too might have practised the skills of ‘menestralsie e de jogelerye’ and played the citole for pleasure (Table 1: A.1, EX.9). The earliest and most frequent references to citolers in literature, however, relate to musicians. Playing the citole is presented as a desirable skill for performers playing at courts (Table 1: O.1, O.3, F.8) and citoles appear among the instruments of a famous ‘menestrel’ (Table 1: F.11). It seems to have been a very popular instrument with ‘jogrars’ who frequented the courts of Iberia (Table 1: PX.3–PX.4). In two texts a citole is used as a symbol of occupation for a ‘jongleor’ (Table 1: F.3) and a ‘menestrel’ (Table 1: F.27). Citoles are described as having been seen in the house of a rich man (Table 1: L.1) and played by ‘menstrales of moch honours’ in a knight’s household (Table 1: E.2), as well as by the servants (‘seruidores’) of royalty (Table 1: P. 2) and by ‘menstrales’ in an enchanted castle (Table 1: E.6). Although modern readers often assume that minstrels were superior to ‘joglars’, if that distinction existed during the 13th and 14th centuries it seems to have been limited to French-language ‘Alioquin Deiceret Hic Instrumentum Illud Multum Vulgare’ | 33 texts.156 The late 13th-century Des Taboureurs seems to make no distinction between ‘menestrels’ and ‘jougleurs’, but it does suggest that string players were higher in status than players of wind and percussion instruments, such as ‘tabour’, ‘chalemele’, ‘léustes’, ‘lajos’ and ‘musele’.157 Even skilled minstrels still had an intermediate social position, albeit akin to that of a courtly servant. While acting as a spy, Johan de Rampayne exploits this in his disguise as a high-status minstrel, which allows him into the chambers of the nobles to perform for them, but also to pour their wine, to which he adds a sleeping draught (Table 1: A.1). Citoles are included in several metaphors relating to skills perfected through practice in French-language manuscripts (Table 1: F.4, F.33). When citoles appear in depictions of angels, biblical igures or animals they seems to mirror the social status of the human players in that region. In the scala naturae, the Great Chain of Being, animals are classed as below the common people whereas royalty and angels are above. In northern France, where the citole has not been linked to the royal court, angels are the most common species of citole player but there are also many humans and human/animal hybrids. It is perhaps not surprising that animal/human hybrids, which presumably have a lower status than humans, appear in the same region that has the greatest number of depictions of non-courtly human citolers. In Castile and León as well as England, where there were citolers at the royal courts, the citolers most often depicted are crowned Elders of the Apocalypse and angels respectively. In England when royal citolers are depicted they are almost always among King David’s musicians. Citoles in French and Flemish sources seem to occur in more mundane situations and yet it does not seem to have been an instrument of the common people. Citole playing seems to have been a taught skill, practised by a few amateurs (students, young ladies and gentlemen), but most often by trained musicians, whether itinerant performers or decorous court musicians. Citoles are often mentioned in extensive lists of instruments meant to demonstrate the grandeur of a wedding, coronation or triumphal celebration. They are not, however, unusual instruments used to pad out these lists. Citolers are sometimes shown as solo performers, but they are often paired with medieval iddles or found in courtly situations when only a few other instruments appear. We have some idea of the sorts of music that might have been heard on citoles. Texts mention citoles among instruments suitable for playing ‘motez, ‘balades, virelais, comedies, rondeauls, et lais’ (Table 1: F.39), as well as ‘dansses et le caroles’ (Table 1: F.7), and suggest that it might have accompanied the ‘hovedance’ (Table 1: E.5) and ‘trotta’ (Table 1: C.4, C.6). The citole is associated with singing and it seems to have strong associations with accompanying Gallician-Portuguese songs, both scared and secular, but possibly not Arabic songs (Table 1: C.6). The main purposes of this survey were to help dispel some of the confusion relating to the term ‘citole’; highlight the large amount of surviving medieval sources that relate to it; and ofer context for the British Museum citole. Although it is less usual now for citoles to be mistakenly called gitterns, the misidentiication of citoles as guitarras latina is still 34 | The British Museum Citole common. When 19th-century scholars searched medieval Castilian images for instruments that might it the terms guitarra latina and guitarra morisca they believed they found the answer in a copy of the Cantigas de Santa Maria. Although a wide variety of instruments are depicted in the Códice de los Músicos they are not identiied by name.158 The plucked instrument shown in the prologue scene of Alfonso X’s court seemed like an obvious candidate for the term guitarra latina. This is not merely because it had a shape similar to more modern instruments called guitars, but because it was only shown as being played by Christian musicians in this manuscript (in which Christian, Muslim and Jewish musicians can be diferentiated by their clothing) this instrument seemed to be ‘latine’ rather than ‘morisca’. We now know these instruments were probably called çitolas and the name guitarra latina seems to have been a red herring. Although references to guitarras are common in medieval Castilian literature, the speciic term guitarra latina was not. Wright suggests that the diference between the ‘Latin’ and ‘Moorish’ forms of the guitarra might be as straightforward as to whether the soundboard was made of wood or animal hide. He also concludes that the name guitarra latina probably indicated a gittern, a pear-shaped instrument with a wooden soundboard, like the surviving gittern at Wartburg Castle, Germany.159 Although extremely rare in medieval texts, the term guitarra latina has appeared frequently in modern discussions of medieval music since 1855 and one of the greatest challenges for current scholars is disentangling the citole from the false identiication of it as the guitarra latina.160 The lack of late 20th-century scholarly attention to the citole is due, in part, to the confusion caused by earlier musicologists disagreeing about which medieval instrument should be called by which name. Although Wright brought attention to the incorrect use of this terminology, he also instilled doubt. There seems to have been a period of scholarly limbo between when Wright irst published his research and when his assertions were generally accepted. The corroborating evidence of the three illustrated medieval texts discussed here should assuage these doubts. We can now be certain that instruments like the one in the British Museum would have been known as ‘citoles’ during the Middle Ages, and scholars (like those who have contributed to this volume) have begun to give attention to this important but often overlooked medieval instrument type. The British Museum citole is signiicant as an artistic masterpiece but also as a tangible piece of music history. Although it has been altered, it is one of the very few existing medieval stringed instruments and the sole survivor of its type. Although this instrument has been largely forgotten in modern times, the wealth of medieval evidence suggests that citoles were high-status instruments that were well known in large areas of Atlantic Europe. It was particularly popular in Castile and León during the 13th century, northern France and Flanders in much of the 13th and 14th centuries and England from the late 13th through 14th century. Comparison of the British Museum citole with images of other citoles suggests that the distinctive morphological features of its medieval body were common and, given that they are depicted with some consistency over a period of roughly two centuries, they were characteristic and well established. The British Museum citole veriies physical aspects of this instrument type, but also indicates the relatively high status of the citole in the society of its time. Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 Galpin actually increased the confusion by misidentifying which medieval instrument had been known as a citole. Galpin 1910, 25. MS Brussels, Bibliothèque royale de Belgique, 21069. Most of these are discussed in greater detail in my PhD thesis (Margerum 2010). Hawkins 1776, 687. Soriano Fuertes 1855, vol. I, 188. De Coussemaker 1856. Rimbault’s deinition was cited in the irst two editions of Sir George Grove’s music dictionaries. Rimbault 1860, 25; Hipkins 1899, 359; Hipkins 1904, 539–40. Cerone de Bergamo 1613, XXI, 1054; Galpin 1910, 25. Galpin’s deintion also appeared in the third and fourth editions of Grove’s Dictionary: Galpin 1927a; Galpin 1927b; Galpin 1937. Wright 1977. Wright 1984; Wright 2001. Kimmel suggests that Daurel et Beton must have been written between 1130 and 1150 because a poem of that name is mentioned in the epic Ensenhamen, composed by Guiraut de Cabrera, c. 1150–68 (Kimmel 1971, 34–5). The relevant passage describes the festivities after Lent to welcome the return of the personiication of Love. Given the great variation between manuscripts, this is verse 1232 in concordance numbering. In MS ‘Toledo’ (MS Madrid, Biblioteca Nacional, Va-6-1), a version of the 1330 redaction, believed to have been copied in 1368 and dated orthographically to the 3rd quarter of the 14th century, the text reads ‘la çitola albordana entre ellos entremete’. MS ‘Gayoso’ (MS Madrid, Real Academia Española, 19) is also a copy of the 1330 redaction and is dated 1389. It reads ‘la hadura al-bardana entre ellos se entremete’. Willis makes a convincing case for later scribes being responsible for replacing the ‘clownish çitola’ with an ‘ill-fated female clown’ in this passage in later copies (Ruiz et al. 1965, 380; Ruiz and Willis 1972, lix–lx). For a full list of manuscripts and fragments see Chrétien de Troyes 2000, xxiii. The word ‘citole’ is replaced by ‘viole’ only in MS Paris, BnF, fr. 1586, v. 3981; de Machaut 1911, vol. II, 146. Diferent poems are recorded by each of the collections. When the same poem does appear the transcriptions agree substantially but not exactly, and diferent internal number systems are used for the poems; Lapa 1970. Lodge and Varty 2001. In addition to being a shepherd musician like the young David, St Braulio’s description of St Emillian as ‘futurus pastor hominum erat pastor ovium’ evokes biblical references to King David such as in 2 Samuel 5:2. Braulio 1850, 703. Rey and Navarro 1993; Rey 1999; Ferreira 2005, ch. 1. Remnant 1965. Eitschberger 1999. Remnant and Marks 1980; Buehler-McWilliams 2007 (Appendix B, this volume, pp. 125–41); Kevin et al. 2008 (Appendix A, this volume, pp. 111–24). Bellows, Grunfeld and Nickel consider this instrument type to have been an ancestor to the guitar. Winternitz and Stauder suggest that it developed into the cittern (Bellows 1970; Grunfeld 1974; Nickel 1984; Winternitz 1967; Stauder 1979). Plate 1 shows that another gloss (‘lira:vedel’) is in a diferent colour ink, which supports Wright’s conclusion that it is in a diferent hand (Wright 1977). Ibid., 28; de Coussemaker 1856, 109. Manuscript MS ‘M3’ (Madrid, Escorial, L-II-3) is believed to have been sent to Alfonso X of Castile by Latini shortly after his return to Florence. Marshall suggests that particular interpolations were certainly added by Latini himself. The speciic term used in this manuscript is ‘citole’: Marshall 2001, 76. For a further discussion of this manuscript see Baldwin and Barrette 2003. Holloway 1986, 19–25 and 30–1. 28 The inclusion of the ‘s’ before the ‘t’ in variants of the term ‘citole’ seems to occur primarily in Picard manuscripts. Other examples include the two copies of Bauduin de Sebourc (Paris, BnF, fr., 12552 and 12553); Bocca 1841, vol. I, 53. 29 Kisseleva 2000. 30 Thanks to Dr Richard Rastall for his notes on my transciption (pers. comm., Oct. 2014). 31 Translated by Dr Norris Lacy, Penn Sate University (pers. comm., Sept. 2008). 32 Several early 13th-century English bestiaries in Latin contain illustrations of three sirens: one without an instrument, the second with tibiis (shown as end-blown pipes, often double or triple pipes) and the third with a lira (shown as a triangular frame-harp). Examples include MS Cambridge, University Library, K.k.4.25, fol. 77r; MS Oxford, Bodleian, Douce 88, fol. 138v and MS Oxford, Bodleian, Bodley 602, fol. 10r (Leach 2006, 194). A similar correlation of vernacular terms to medieval instruments occurs in contemporaneous depictions of the buisine and harpe-playing sirens in manuscripts of Richard de Fournival’s Bestiaire d’amour, which seem to have been inluenced by the tibia and lyra in Isidore of Seville’s Etymologiae. Fournival 1860, 16; Isidore of Seville 1911. 33 Mokretsova 2000, 102. 34 This 14th-century altarpiece was not the irst time that artists at the monastery of San Millán de Cogolla had depicted their founder with a more modern musical instrument. A late 11th-century ivory panel taken from the reliquary of St Emilian was made at the monastery, showing the young shepherd with a long-necked, oval-bodied stringed instrument slung over his shoulder. A 7th-century Latin hagiography by St Braulio described the youth as having played the ‘cithara’ (Braulio 1850). This instrument depicted is probably meant to be a variety of ‘cithara’ as mentioned by St Braulio. The ivory panel is now in the Metropolitan Museum, New York, Cloisters Collection (acc. 1987.89). 35 The generally agreed date of authorship, c. 1234, is cited by numerous musicologists, including Rey and Navarro 1993, 35 and Wright 1977, 37. 36 These transcriptions are attributed to Father Diego de Mecolaeta (MS Madrid, Biblioteca Nacional, 13149, dated 1740–9); Father Martin Sarmiento (MS Valladolid, Archivo de los Benedictinos de Valladolid, dated before 1772); and Father Domingo Ybarreta (MS Santo Domingo de Silos, la Real Abadía de Santo Domingo de Silos, 110, dated 1774–9) (de Berceo 1967, 67–74). Father Ybarreta’s transcription was irst published by Sánchez 1780. 37 Marden produced a diplomatic edition of the folio manuscript shortly after it was rediscovered in 1925 (de Berceo 1928, 96). 38 This is Keller’s translation, based on one of the 18th-century transcriptions, in which he uses the term ‘çitara’. Keller 1972, 75. 39 Based on features of the clothing, Trujillano suggests that the Tablas can be no earlier than the second third of the 14th century and possibly as late as 1390. Trujillano 1985, 83. 40 Although both authors have written several times on this subject, for the purposes of this paper, I will follow their earliest deinitions. Wright 1977; Young 1984. 41 ‘Cithara’ when used to label a speciic medieval instrument is usually applied to a triangular frame harp, as in the late 12thcentury Hortus Deliciarum, fol. 32r, formerly in the Bibliothèque de Strasbourg, now destroyed (van Schaik 1992). 42 Wright 1977, 23–4. 43 Alighieri 1967, vol. IV, 329–30. 44 Alighieri 1995, Convivio, 65. 45 Giamboni 1968, 152. 46 Alighieri 1996, 192; Compagni 1863, 96–7. 47 MS Venice, Bibl. Nazionale Marciana, Marc. it. II.53 (late 14th or early 15th century); Latini 1839. 48 The term cedra has been noted in a translation of the Bible into Castilian, Alfonso X’s General estoria IV, a life of the Virgin by Gonzalo de Berceo and a poetic account of Alexander the Great. Menéndez Pidal 1965, 70; Kasten and Nitti 2002, vol. I, 420; de Berceo 1975, 42; Sánchez 1782, vol. III, 197. 49 A documentary source regulating cedrero survives: MS Madrid, archivo del Ayuntamiento de Madrid, El Fuero de Madrid, transcribed in 1202 (Ferreira 2005, 205; Millares Carlo 1932, 50). 50 De Berceo 1978, 41. ‘Alioquin Deiceret Hic Instrumentum Illud Multum Vulgare’ | 35 51 Although Thuresson lists the Middle English ‘citoler’ phonologically under ‘K’, this seems to be an error given the common use of the alternate ‘sitoler’ (Thuresson 1950, 280). 52 In the Howard Psalter the instrument on folio 33v is almost identical to the instrument on folio 63v, aside from having rounded rather than pointed bouts (MS London, BL, Arundel 83 part 1, fol. 33v and fol. 63v). 53 There is disagreement about certain types of oval bodies, however. Wright (2001) suggested that oval-bodied instruments with lattened sides might be citoles. In his 2000 article, Young speciies that the ‘citole and related names’ apply to instruments characterized by ‘straight or in-curving sides’ but, confusingly, the accompanying illustration from a fresco by Girolamo di Benvenuto shows an oval-bodied instrument. Previously Young (1984) had labelled this same illustration as a ‘cetra’ (Wright 2001; Young 1984, 69; Young 2000b, 356). 54 Cerone de Bergamo 1613, 1054; Baines 1950. 55 Although Wright mentions many of these features, he does not ofer them as deining characteristics. He describes them in terms of how they might have developed into features of the later cittern. In 1984, Young surveyed medieval depictions of plucked instruments, classiied them by morphological type and then compared their occurrence to the vernacular instrument names used in written sources of the same period. This comparison seems to indicate that the terms ‘citole’ and ‘cetra’ correspond to his non-oval groups ‘B.1’ and ‘B.2’ respectively (Wright 1977; Young 1984, 69). 56 In a later article, Young seems to have disregarded his earlier distinctions and included cetra-related terms and shallow, spade-shaped instruments in his discussion of citoles (Young 2000b, 356). However, in the current volume, Young clearly identiies the citole and the cetra as two distinct instrument types. See Young, this volume. 57 This deinition includes most, but not all, of the features of Young’s non-oval group ‘B.1’ (Young 1984, 69). 58 MS Stuttgart, Württembergische Landesbibliothek, Bibl. Fol. 23, contains several images of plectrum-plucked, distinct-necked chordophones with non-oval bodies and large end projections on folios 55r, 83r, 97v, 108r, 112r, 125r, 155v and 161r (de Wald 1930). 59 Missing from this survey is a Cypriot source containing depictions of relevant instruments: the ‘Hamilton Psalter’ MS Berlin, Staatliche Museen Kupferstichkabinett, 78.A.5. Dating from c. 1320–40, this manuscript was probably produced under French inluence. 60 Page 1986, 53. 61 Bedbrook 1971, 53. 62 MS Paris, BnF, latin 11282, is transcribed in Géraud 1837, 611. The inclusion of the ‘citola’ has been veriied in ten further 13th-century copies of this work. None of the identiied glosses in any of these copies ofer clariication of the term. Several ofer simple translations, such as a 13th-century English copy, ‘cithola: sitole’ in MS Cambridge, Gonville and Caius College, 136 (Hunt 1991, vol. II, 144). 63 Wright includes an illustration of a similar passage relating to the monochord that includes drawings of a gittern labelled ‘guisterna’ and a citole labelled ‘chitara’ from a French copy of De musica speculativa by Johannes de Muris: MS Paris, BnF, latin 7378A, fol. 45v (c. 1330) (Wright 1977, pl. 1; see Chapter 10, Pl. 10a). 64 The kingdoms of Galicia and León were reunited in 1175. Two of the relevant sculpted portals (Carboiero and Portomarin) are Galician and one (Toro, north portal) is Leonese. The copy of the Beatus super Apocalypsim, MS Manchester, John Rylands University Library, Latin 8, fol 89r, c. 1175, is a northern Spanish manuscript, although the speciic region has not been determined. 65 Many of these were brought to my attention by Rey and Navarro 1993. Ferreira, has also identiied citoles at Palencia, Guimares and Camprón but I have not seen these (Ferreira 2005). 66 MS Madrid, Escorial, Cod. T.I.6, fol. 31r. 67 MS Madrid, Escorial, Cod. B.I.2 includes two citolers in the prologue image, and one each adjacent to cantiga X and cantiga CL. Only one appears in MS Madrid, Escorial, Cod. T.I.1, in the prologue illustration. 68 MS Lisbon, Biblioteca do Palácio Nacional da Ajuda, Códice Reservado 118, formerly known as the Cancioneiro do Colègio dos 36 | The British Museum Citole 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 Nobres, includes depictions of citolers on fols 58r, 69r, 80v, 87r, 88r, 91v, fol. 95v and 100r. These manuscripts are the Códice de los Músicos, MS Madrid, Escorial, B. I. 2. and the Códice Rico MS Madrid, Escorial, T. I. 1. Citole-related terms do not appear in the text, but ‘viola’ is the term used in the text of cantiga VIII, the illustration of which in the Codíce Rico contains a bowed instrument that is virtually identical to the one shown in the prologue illustrations. The scene is probably meant to conjure associations with King David, which include being a wise and just king as well as a composer of devotional song, but may also present Alfonso X as a troubadour composing sacred songs in honour of ‘Our Lady’, the Virgin Mary. As a method of demonstrating grandeur, this is not unlike a poetic technique described by Geofrey de Vinsauf in his inluential early 13th-century Poetria Nova, in which he gives speciic examples of how descriptions of feasts may be magniied by including appropriate details (de Vinsauf 1995). MS Vatican, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Cod. vat. 4803, poem #71 (Lapa 1970). Libro de ajedrez dados e tablas, MS Madrid, Escorial, T.I.6, fol. 31r. Since the citole in the ‘Book of Games’ is decorated with the symbols of Castile and León, it is tempting to suggest that this might be the king’s citoler, ‘Cítola’, named in the 16th-century transcription mentioned above. MS Lisbon, Biblioteca do Palácio Nacional da Ajuda, Códice Reservado 118. All of the love lyrics in the manuscript are believed to date from before the death of Alfonso X in 1284 and it does not contain any works by Dinis I of Portugal who reigned 1279–1325. Lapa suggested that ‘citolon’ merely denotes a large cítola. Ferreira’s argument that the name citolon might have been used for the large bowed chordophone depicted in the Canconiero da Ajuda seems to rely upon on a progression of non-chronological sources (Lapa 1970, glossary; Ferreira 2005). No Aragonese texts have been identiied that contain citole-related terms, except for an early 15th-century manuscript of Latini’s Li livres dou tresor: MS Gerona, Catedral de Gerona, Archivo del Cabildo, 20.a.5 (Prince 1995). In each case the cetra- or vernacular cithara-related term has no relation to the citole reference. The citations appear more than 100 pages apart and are probably the work of diferent scribes. Bayonne Cathedral was also the site of the christening of Alphonso, ninth child of Edward I of England and Eleanor of Castile, who was born in Bayonne in 1273. His godfather, Alfonso X of Castile and León, is known to have attended the christening. The debated text is Flamenca. An additional reference to a ‘cithola’ in an Occitan psalter is mentioned by Nannucci, but the manuscript is not speciied (Nannucci 1847, vol. I, 184). Harrison and Rimmer 1964, 15; Dart 1965, 349; Aubrey 1989, 130. By convention, Belgian sources are often referred to as Flemish even if they are written in French or originate from what would have then been the Duchy of Brabant, as well as the Duchy of Flanders. Among the earliest is MS Paris, Bibl. Mazarine, 36, Picard Psalter, c. 1220–30. Among the latest is MS Paris, BnF, latin 18104, fol. 53r, Petites Heures de Jehan Duc de Berry, school of Jean Pucelle, Paris, c. 1375–88 (see Chapter 10, Pl. 4). For full details of these manuscripts see Margerum 2010, Appendix B. The instructional preface in the Metz Psalter, which was written in the 1370s, seems to indicate that the translator believed that the laity of the area would recognize the term cytolle and would consider the medieval instrument type suitable both in use and status to be associated with King David as Psalmist (Bonnardot 1884). This does not include Jehan de Brie’s Le Bon Berger, which although written in 1379, has not been identiied in any copies earlier than 1541. MS Florence, Bibl. Medicea Laurenziana, Plut. 29. I. f. A. (Paris, 1245–55) and MS London, BL, Burney 275, fol. 359v (Paris, 1309–16). MS Avranches, BM, 0222, fol. 9 (Paris, after 1245) is a copy of Grosseteste’s Latin translation of Aristotelis Ethica ad Nicomachum. 89 MS Oxford, Bodleian Library, Bodley 264, fols 173r and 188v (Flemish, completed 1344). The diverse minstrels in the margins of this Romance of Alexander are very reminiscent of the grand lists of instruments in literature. 90 MS Cambridge, Trinity College, B.11.22, fol. 199v (Ghent, c. 1300). 91 A male citoler is pictured above a female iddler in MS Cambridge, Fitzwilliam Museum, 298, fol. 1r (Metz, 1302–16). A large eared male citoler is shown opposite a male iddler in a Flemish Psalter from Liège, c. 1300, MS Oxford, Bodleian, Canon. Liturgical 126, fol 98v. A male citoler sits in the lower margin decoration and a male iddler stands on top of the historiated initial in MS Liège, Bibliothèque de l’Université, 431, fol. 96v, (Mosan or Liège, 1280–90). 92 A male citoler appears beside a dog standing on its hind legs in MS Vatican, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Urb. latin 603, fol. 103r (Paris, 1310–20). 93 MS Paris, BnF, fr. 776, fol. 10v (Arras, 1285–90) and MS Baltimore, Walters Library, MS 88, fol. 80r (French, c. 1300). 94 The male citoler dancing with a woman occurs in MS Brussels, BR, MS 10607, fol. 65r (southern Netherlands, possibly Bruges, c. 1280). 95 This appears to be a two part Latin conductus, MS London, BL, Egerton 274, fol. 7v. 96 This ivory triptych is now in the Schnütgen Museum, Cologne. 97 These are now located in England and Germany: the ‘Braunche brass’ in the church of St Margaret, King’s Lynn, Norfolk, England (Flemish, mid-14th century) and the ‘von Bülow Brass’, Schwerin Cathedral, Germany (Flemish, mid- to late 14th century). 98 A number of French manuscripts are not discussed in this section. Although they record the use of a citole-related term, many of these texts are based on an earlier Latin work (Table 1: F.22, F.30, F.39) or the Bible (Table 1: F.19, F.25) and might not be informative about medieval musical practice. 99 Rastall 1968; Bullock-Davies 1986; Margerum 2010, ch. 4. See also Rastall’s paper in this volume. 100 Although many of the 15th-century works that include citoles recall earlier medieval times, this is not suicient to indicate that they are necessarily pastiches. Many of the earlier texts that mention citoles, for example Erec et Enide (Table 1: F.5), are also Arthurian romances. 101 Cave and Tanner 1934, pl. XI; Margerum 2010, Ill. 141. 102 Sculptures of angels in ecclesiastical settings have survived at Westminster Abbey (mid-13th century); Higham Ferrers, Northamptonshire, England (1269–70); the angel choir of Lincoln Cathedral (before 1280) although this might be a medieval iddle being plucked; Cley next the Sea, Norfolk (second quarter of the 14th century); on two roof bosses at Tewkesbury Abbey, Gloucestershire, which have sufered from some 19th-century restoration (14th century); Exeter Cathedral, Devon, (1340s); Lawford, Essex (c. 1340); Gloucester Cathedral (c. 1350); Thaxted, Essex (after 1377); and on a limestone altar carving formerly in Sutton Valence, Kent (1350–75), now in the Victoria & Albert Museum, acc. A.58-1921. A sculpture of a human/hybrid citoler appears in the cloister of Norwich Cathedral (1326–36) and a citole-playing animal is present at Cogges, Oxford (mid-14th century). 103 Defaced citolers occur at Higham Ferrers, Northamptonshire; Lawford, Essex; Beverley, East Yorkshire; and an altarpiece formerly in Sutton Valence, Essex (now in the Victoria & Albert Museum, acc. A.58-1921). A few citolers in manuscripts are also defaced such as the musical angels in MS Cambridge, Sidney Sussex College 76. 104 Although the body of one of the citoles in the nave of Beverley Minster (McPeek NA#6) appears to be original, both the head of the player and the peghead of the instrument are obviously speculative replacements. The other citoler among the carvings of minstrels in the nave (McPeek NA#13), is even more heavily restored (McPeek and McPeek 1973; see also Montagu and Montagu 1978). 105 The fragment with a human citoler in the church of St Mary Magdalen, Warham, Norfolk, c. 1320–30, was recovered from the ground outside the window where it is now in place. See BuehlerMcWilliams 2007, ig. 27 (Appendix B, this volume, p. 138). 106 The pane with a human hybrid is part of a reconstructed window at the church of St Nicholas, Stanford-on-Avon, Northamptonshire, from the nave, south aisle, east window, c. 1330–50. 107 One of the angelic citolers, in a roundel from St Mary’s Abbey Chapel, York, 14th century, is now in the Yorkshire Museum, York. The other is in the large stained glass panel at Lincoln Cathedral, c. 1385, shown in Pl. 6. 108The ‘Bologna Cope’, Museo Civico, Bologna, and the ‘Cope of Daroca’, National Archeological Museum of Spain, Madrid. 109 MS London, BL, Egerton 1151, fol. 47 (southern or central England, third quarter of the 13th century). 110 Scenes of citolers leading dancers also occur in Queen Mary Psalter MS London, BL, Royal 2B VII, (English, c. 1310–20) fols 173v–174r, 176v–177r, 189r, 229r (although this last citoler is an angel). A single male citoler plays for a female dancer in the opposite margin of MS Oxford, Christ Church, 92, fol. 31v. 111 The Tickhill Psalter shows the women of Jerusalem singing and playing instruments, MS New York, New York Public Library, Spenser 26, fol. 17r (Nottinghamshire, 1303–14). 112 MS Oxford, Christ Church, 92, fol. 43r; James 1913. 113 Two court musicians are described as ‘Sitoler le Roi’ and ‘cytoler le Roi’ during this period: J. Vala in MS London, National Archives, E101/380/4, fol. 31r, 11 April, 1325; and Richardyn in MS London, Society of Antiquaries 122, p. 50, 30 January 1326. 114 Speciically Jeremiah ( Jeremiah 20:2), Manasses (Chronicles II 33:11), Job ( Job 13:27) or David in Psalm 106 (107) as a symbolic stand-in for Robert de Ferrers who had been imprisoned for his part in the baronial uprising against Henry III (Henderson 1991, 146). 115 A popular Miracle of the Virgin relates how a minstrel (although not speciically a citoler), who had been imprisoned for singing seditious songs was set free by the Virgin after promising to henceforth sing only songs in her praise. 116 The date of construction, 1269, is the same year that two pardons were issued for William ‘le Citolur’. The irst of the two pardons, the London pardon, was at the request of Edmund, Earl of Lancaster, who was at the time titular Lord of Higham manor (Ward 1883–1910; Public Records Oice 1913. 117 These carvings at St Margaret’s Church, Cley next the Sea, Norfolk (second quarter of the 14th century) show similarities to a pair of musicians carved in the cloister of Norwich cathedral (1326–36), but the Norwich igures are shown side-by-side and have the legs of animals (Pl. 12). 118 The text in MS London, BL, Royal 12.C.XII, is believed to paraphrase a lost 13th-century couplet romance based on the oral history of the Fitz Warin family; Brandin 1939. 119 Purdie 2008. 120 Wright 1977, 26. 121 Steadman 1959. 121 ‘Dame Avarice celle escole, Tient, u sempres chascun s’escole, Et entre y pour estudier, Nounpas d’aprendre a la citole’ Gower 1899, 89. Translation from Gower 1992. 123 Tammen 2000. 124 The bronze doors were designed by H. Schneider in 1888 and the south portal sculpture designed by L.M. Schwantaler in 1847–8. 125 In 1793, many of the sculptures on the west façade of Strasbourg Cathedral were destroyed or seriously damaged. The statues of two citolers that are now in the Musée de l’Oeuvre Notre-Dame Strasbourg are most likely either heavily restored originals or 19th-century replacements. The current statues on the west façade date from the 1980s. Notable diferences between two versions of one of these sculptures can be seen in Panum 1940, ig. 364 and Young 1984, 97, reprinted in Buehler-McWilliams 2007, igs 13a–b (Appendix B, this volume, p. 131). 126 Codex Gisle, MS Osnabrück, Bistumsarchiv, Inv. Nr. Ma. 101 (Rulle, near Osnabrück, c. 1300) and the Prüm Missal, MS Berlin, Staaliche Museen Preußischer Kulturbesitz, Theol. Lat. 271 (Prüm, c. 1320). 127 One is in New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art, Cloisters Collection, 1970.324.8a, b. (Cologne, c. 1350). The current location of a late 14th-century German ivory diptych wing (former Frankfurt am Main, Richard von Passavant-Gontard Collection, inv. Koechlin 0216) is unknown but a photo of it appears in Swarzenski 1929, pl. 14 (no. 72). ‘Alioquin Deiceret Hic Instrumentum Illud Multum Vulgare’ | 37 128 Brown’s four-part survey of 14th-century musical subjects in Italian art demonstrates how uncommon plucked instruments with non-oval bodies were in Italy. In 1984, when discussing the category he associated with the term ‘citole’ (non-oval type B.1), Young identiied no relevant Italian sources from the 10th to 15th centuries (Brown 1988; Young 1984, 75). 129 Baines 1950. 130 Although some details are diicult to discern, spade-shaped bodies occur in several Italian manuscripts including MS Puy-en-Velay, BM, 1, fol. 173v. (13th century); MS London, BL, Add. 47672, fol. 471r. (14th century) and MS Madrid, Escorial, A.1.5, fol. 235 (14th century), although this last one has been interpreted as showing a thumbhole type neck. The instrument in MS Paris, BnF, SmithLesoëf 21, fol. 145v. (late 13th century) appears to have a shallow body and unsupported neck but the sides of the body have more of a waist than is usual in Italian depictions. 131 Spade-shaped bodies appear in a sculpture at Cogges in Oxfordshire, as well as three manuscripts associated with Jean Pucelle or his school: the Breviary of Blanche de France, Vatican, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Urb. latin 603, fol. 103r ( Jean Pucelle, Parisian, 1310–20); the De Lisle Psalter, MS London, BL, Arundel 83, part 2, fol. 134v. (attributed to the ‘Majesty Master’, possibly school of Jean Pucelle, English c. 1330–9); and the Petites Heures de Jehan Duc de Berry, MS Paris, BnF, latin 18104, fol. 48v ( Jean le Noir, school of Jean Pucelle, Paris, c. 1372–88). In each of the manuscript examples a thumbhole (or handhole) type neck is clearly depicted. At Cogges, although the neck type can not be seen due to the placement of the sculpture, the instrument has a pronounced overall taper in depth. As Remnant has pointed out, these English and French examples might be high-waisted variants of the more common vase shape. Remnant and Marks 1980. 132 ‘Citole’ occurs in MS Florence, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Plut. 42.19 (late 13th or early 14th century), and MS Florence, Biblioteca Nazionale, II.II.47 (14th century): de Visani 1860. 133 De Visiani 1860. 134 Alighieri 1967, vol. IV, 329–30; da Imola 1887, vol. V, 256; da Buti 1862, vol. 3, 564. 135 Alighieri 1996, vol. III, 192. 136 MS London, BL, Royal 2B VII. 137 Buehler-McWilliams provides a list of thumbhole citoles (BuehlerMcWilliams 2007, 38; Appendix B, this volume, p. 138). 138 Stauder discusses the pronounced depth taper and shows several examples (Stauder 1979). 139 Occasionally overall depth taper and thumbhole are shown in manuscripts such as in MS New York, Pierpont Morgan Library, 183, fol. 141v (Liége, 1280s). 140Sometimes the type of neck was depicted but is not visible from a convenient vantage point, as with the oval thumbhole that is clearly shown on one of the citolers at the Archbishop Gelmirez’s Palace in Santiago, but which can only be seen from above. A photo of this is published in Rey 1999. 141 Sometimes, the body depth of citoles seems to have been distorted so that the front of the player can be more rounded, as on both large musical angels on the canopies above St Philip and St Bartholomew (c. 1280–1300) and the human citole player on a bench end in the choir stalls (Pl. 11) (1308–11) in Cologne Cathedral and both of the angelic citolers at Tewkesbury. I would like to thank Dr Mary Remnant for letting me view her copies of the restoration photos from Tewekesbury Abbey. Although one angelic citoler was heavily recarved in the 19th century, both instruments retain evidence of thumbhole necks. 142 The following examples distinctly show a thumbhole but whether the body depth tapers is unclear: MS Oxford, Bodleian, Bodley 691, fol. 1v (Normandy, 14th century); MS New Haven, Yale University, Beinecke Library, 404, fol. 90r. (northern France, c. 1300); MS Paris, BnF, fr. 13096, fol. 46r (Flemish, 1313); MS Berlin, Staatliche Museen Preußischer Kulturbesitz, Theol. Lat. 271, fol. 33r and 188v (Prüm, Germany, c. 1320); MS London BL, Arundel 38 | The British Museum Citole 83, part 2, fol. 134v (English, c. 1330–9); and possibly MS Florence, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Plut. 29. I. f. A (Paris, 1245–55) although it is not being played. 143 The hole in the neck shown being used as a handhole appears in only a few manuscripts: MS Paris, BnF, latin 18104, fols 48v and 53r (Paris, c. 1372–88), MS Vatican, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Urb. latin 603, fol. 103r. (Parisian, 1310–20), and MS New York, NYPL, Spenser 26, fol. 17r. (Nottinghamshire, 1303–14). 144Bretel and Delbouille 1932. 145 Animal heads appear on citoles most often in English and French manuscripts: MS London, BL, Arundel 83, part 2, fol. 134v (English, c. 1330–9); MS Vatican, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Urb. latin 603, fol. 103r (Parisian, 1310–20); MS Oxford, Bodleian, Bodley 264, fol. 188v (Flemish, completed 1344); MS Paris, BnF, latin 18104, fol. 48v and fol. 53r (Paris, c. 1372–88); MS Brussels, BR, 9961-62, fol. 14r (Peterborough, 1299–1318); MS Oxford, Jesus College, D.40, fol. 8r (English, c. 1300); MS Oxford, All Souls College, 7, fol. 7 (English, early 14th century); MS London, BL, Royal 2B VII, fol. 174r, 203r, 192v and fol. 282r (English, c. 1310–20); MS London, BL, Arundel 83, part 1, fols 33v and 63v (English, c. 1310–20). 146 Buehler-McWilliams 2007 (Appendix B, this volume, pp. 125–41; see Hebbert, this volume; and Kevin et al. 2008 (Appendix A, this volume, pp. 111–24). 147 Several damaged sculptures also suggest anterior pegs, such as one of the igures at Archbishop Gelmirez’s Palace and one of the replaced igures at Strasbourg Cathedral, as do a mid-13th century manuscript, MS Avranches, BM, 0222, fol. 9 (French, after 1245), and a mid-14th century ceiling painting in Teruel Cathedral (1335). A good detail of the pegs on the Exeter citole can be seen in a photo by Nicholas Toyne on the cover of Early Music 15 (1), February 1987. 148Wright describes the ‘vase’ shape as ‘shouldered’ shape (Wright 2001). 149 The single exception seems to be the Prüm Missal in which both of the citoles are waisted. MS Berlin, Staatliche Museen Preußischer Kulturbesitz, Theol. Lat. 271, fol. 33r and 188v (Prüm, Germany, c. 1320). 150 For example, the rosette design on the Lincoln stained glass (Pl. 6) is white while the rest of the soundboard is yellow. 151 Jehan de Brie’s text that includes ‘cytholes’ among gut-strung instruments was written in 1379 but is only known from 16thcentury copies. Although Tinctoris describes the cetula as having strings of brass or iron, his text wasn’t written until the 1480s and refers to instruments used in late 15th-century Italy (de Brie 1879; Baines 1950). For more on stringing, see Koster, this volume. 152 Although the centre lobe of the end projection has been repaired, the original overall length seems to have been two English feet, a measurement which was standardized during the reign of Edward I. In his preliminary survey of 1980, Richard Marks speculated that ‘the possibility of an origin in France or Flanders cannot be entirely discounted’ (Remnant 1980, 100). In the present volume, Phillip Lindley argues eloquently that the citole was produced in England. 153 For more information see the chapter by Rastall in this volume (Chapter 4, pp. 45–50) and Margerum 2010. 154 Tax records indicate that two citolers might have been teachers: Mestre Thomas, listed as a citoléeur in Paris in 1292; and magister I. Sitoler in Oxford in 1325 (Géraud 1837; Salter 1931). 155 Two female citolers are named in legal documents, ‘Agn’ la Setoler’ in the Oxford Assise rolls of 1311 and ‘Marie la citolerresse’ in the tax accounts of Paris in 1313, but neither of these women seem to have been a musician or teacher by profession. Each is described as ‘regrator’ or ‘regratière’, a purveyor of foodstufs that they did not make themselves (Salter 1921; Michaëlsson 1951). 156 Wright 1967. 157 MS Paris, BnF, fr. 837, fol. 278c–279d. Anonymous 1835. 158 MS Madrid, Escorial, B. I. 2. 159 Wright 1977. 160 See Crawford Young, this volume. Chapter 3 Love and Measure The Courtly Associations of the Late Medieval Citole Andrew Taylor The British Museum citole is both paradoxical and mysterious. Modern consensus suggests that citoles delivered a raucous sound and were frequently associated with revelry and lirtation, and while they were popular at all social levels, the extraordinarily ornate and skilful carving on the British Museum citole might suggest that it was intended for a prestigious patron, and one who could therefore be identiied. Yet the carving on the British Museum citole is largely devoid of erotic or aristocratic overtones, and its early provenance is undetermined. It is a rarity; indeed, there are only a handful of other instruments surviving that compare with it, yet its precise original socio-economic milieu remains unknown.1 However, some progress has been made. The suggested date of 1300–30 for the original carving seems reasonably well established, and perhaps can now even be narrowed slightly.2 As for the identity of the master carver, Phillip Lindley provides numerous examples of East Anglian work in a similar style, while noting that an East Anglian artisan could, of course, have later worked in London or Westminster.3 It also appears that the instrument was made to be played. Kate Buehler-McWilliams points out that the great care taken in its construction to produce thin and uniform walls and ribs, combining strength and lightness, suggests that ‘it was created to be a performing instrument, or at least that it was built by a craftsman who was a master citole builder as well as a master carver’.4 As was demonstrated at the 2010 symposium held at the British Museum, in general a citole is a strongly rhythmic and percussive instrument. Mark Rimple, working with Kate Buehler-McWilliams’s reconstruction of the British Museum citole, suggested that the British Museum citole could well have suited the needs of a jongleur as its ‘penetrating percussive timbre’ would ‘easily rise above the ambient noise’.5 As Mauricio Molina notes, the term employed for this technique in Spanish was rascar, and the term ‘citole’ also referred to the noise of the clapper of a mill, which made a loud, rhythmic clattering when the grain had run out.6 The British Museum citole is no exception; like other citoles, this is an instrument that could have competed for attention in a hall or tavern. The imaginary world evoked by the carving of the British Museum citole is, however, not raucous, aristocratic or erotic and is consequently not necessarily attuned to its performative environment. There are several hunting scenes, but the hunters (with the exception of a centaur shooting a bow at a hare) are on foot, following hounds, blowing a hunting horn or shooting with a crossbow. These hunters are not aristocrats. Other scenes illustrate some of the traditional labours of the months so often depicted in Books of Hours. One shows a peasant using a long pole to knock down acorns for his swine (a labour associated with November or sometimes December); another a man chopping a branch of an oak tree (a labour of March). There are several fantasy creatures of a kind often found in manuscript marginalia, including a hybrid with a sword and buckler ighting the small dragon known as a wyvern, but there is nothing overtly satirical or overtly sexual. The hunting of a hare does often convey sexual overtones in medieval art and literature, but there is nothing in its depiction on the citole to make such associations explicit.7 Love and Measure | 39 This restraint is all the more striking because it is not typical of ornately carved early instruments. The examples discussed by Ann Glasscock in this volume are suggestive: the Italian mandora of c. 1420 depicts a man and a woman on its back with Cupid hovering above; the 15th-century Venus rebecchino shows Venus naked; and the extraordinary lira da braccio carved by Giovanni d’Andrea incorporates a woman’s naked body.8 The British Museum citole, in comparison, is very chaste indeed. The citole is also chaste in relation to much contemporary manuscript marginalia, with which it has a signiicant connection. The carving on the citole, as has long been observed, shares a visual vocabulary with the margins of Psalters and Books of Hours and may even have been derived from pattern books used for such illustrations.9 The margins of these prayer books provide potential models for carving on a small scale and the association would also be symbolically appropriate. The widespread image of David as God’s jongleur, his cithara represented by a harp, gittern or citole and citole players portrayed among his musicians, links the citole and the Psalter.10 Furthermore, anyone wealthy enough to own the British Museum citole would have owned at least one Psalter or Book of Hours. Psalters, in both Latin and French, had long been at the heart of personal devotion of wealthy lay people.11 By the time the British Museum citole was made, however, Psalters were beginning to be supplanted by Books of Hours. Many people could manage the Latin of the familiar prayers, and wanted a book that would cover what had become a standardized set of prayers for each of the canonical hours of the day. These concentrated on the seven penitential and ifteen Gradual Psalms, once ‘recited by the infant Virgin Mary as she ascended the steps of the Temple’, and a combination of Psalms, hymns and antiphons forming the Hours of the Virgin (or Little Oice of the Virgin as it is sometimes known, in distinction to the Divine Oice).12 The resulting format, the Book of Hours, became ‘the most popular book of the late Middle Ages’.13 Already by about 1240 a commercial scrivener working in Catte Street in Oxford, one William de Brailles, was preparing for an anonymous laywoman the earliest surviving English example.14 The margins of these books were frequently lavishly decorated with bizarre images. Of course images of wyverns, hybrid archers, faces peeping from behind the foliage and other similar igures are not conined to prayer books, or even to manuscripts. We can also ind them, as Lindley reminds us, in the marginal spaces of medieval sculpture and carving, on misericords or gargoyles, for example, as well as in less marginal spaces, such as the spandrels of St Ethelbert’s gate at Norwich. However, the richest collection of grotesque imagery comes from the Psalters and Books of Hours. It is one of the great paradoxes of medieval culture that a carnival of monstrous animals, satirical scenes of foxes preaching to chickens, bare buttocks, obscene gestures, fornicating monks and nuns, monkeys parodying human folly as well as numerous illustrations of musicians are all found on the margins of prayer books. This is the paradox of these marginal illustrations: their sexual and scatological license.15 Examples of similarly extravagant images can easily be 40 | The British Museum Citole found in contemporary works such as the Ormesby Psalter (Bodleian MS Douce 366, c. 1310), the Grey-Fitzpayn Hours (Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge, MS 242, c. 1300–8) or the Gorleston Psalter (British Library, MS Add. 49622, early 14th century).16 The paradox is somewhat mitigated, however, by the fact that Psalters, ostensibly private books that displayed one’s wealth and gentility, had strong associations with love and lirtation. The 13th-century Occitan romance Flamenca develops these associations at length. The eponymous heroine is carefully guarded by her old and jealous husband. The lover, Guillems, at irst despairs of being able to meet her, but when he prays and then opens his Psalter he inds words of good omen: Quant Guillems ac l’orazon dicha Un sautier pren e ubri lo. Un vers trobet de quel saup bo : Zo fon Dilexi quoniam. ‘Ben sap ar Dieus que voliam’, Ha dih soau, el libre serra. When Guillems had said his prayer, he took a Psalter and opened it. He found a verse there that pleased him greatly. It was the Pslam ‘Dilexi quoniam’. ‘God knows now what I desire’, he said softly, and closed the book.17 Psalm 116 (114 in the Vulgate) begins ‘Dilexi, quoniam exaudiet Dominus vocem orationis meae’ (‘I have loved the Lord because he will hear the voice of my prayer’) and, like the other Psalms, was and still is frequently identiied by its opening words. By themselves, however, the two words can suggest an obscene pun (which works as well in Provençal as it does in Middle English).18 As the courtship advances, the Psalter acts as a crucial intermediary. Following the mass, Guillems contrives to hold the Psalter that Flamenca has just kissed and kisses it himself a thousand times. Eventually, with the aid of bribes, he manages to take over the duties of the clerk and carries the Psalter around to give the kiss of peace throughout the church, coming at last to Flamenca, to whom he whispers ‘Alas!’ while she kisses the book (line 3951). A week later, after much discussion with her two ladies in waiting as to how she might make an appropriate response, she replies with the single phrase ‘Que plains?’ (‘What are you grieving for?’, line 4346). So the conversation proceeds week by week until they eventually arrange an assignation.19 It is, therefore, entirely itting, as Geof Rector notes, that when Flamenca replays the courtship before her ladies in waiting, they use a copy of ‘lo romanz de Blancalor’ (line 4479), the popular Floire et Blanchelor, to stand in for the Psalter.20 Here the Psalter is serving, as romances often did, to promote courtship.21 The license of the marginalia in so many Psalters is thus in keeping with the Psalter’s status as an expensive fashion accessory for the wealthy, especially wealthy women.22 Books of Hours were eventually produced in large numbers to match all incomes, but the expensive ones had an equally worldly reputation as luxury commodities and objects of self-display. Given the kinds of carving on other extant instruments, it is therefore somewhat surprising that the British Museum citole is devoid of overtly erotic imagery, and perhaps this restraint ofers a clue as to its patron or recipient. Admittedly, if the artist picked the scenes from a pattern book, working largely without the patron’s direction, then perhaps the message is that there is no message, or only a very generalized one, that the carving simply reinforces the citole’s status as a luxury object and it is merely a coincidence that the artist just happened to avoid scenes that were overtly erotic. However, in comparison with the license shown by the marginalia of contemporary Psalters and Books of Hours, the British Museum citole is anomalous. The question then becomes what kind of patron or recipient might suit such an instrument? There has long been a general sense that the medieval instrument would beit a monarch, and Buehler McWilliams has even raised the possibility that Edward II might have been the patron, although Alice Margerum observes that the absence of heraldic insignia might argue against the citole being intended for a royal patron.23 More generally, we might consider two categories of possible patrons: minstrels and courtly amateurs. The irst possibility, suggested as a speculative conjecture by Margerum, is that the citole might have been intended for one of Edward II’s citolers, a kingly instrument for a king’s minstrel. It would seem unlikely that any minstrel could have aforded such an instrument by himself, but is it possible that a minstrel might have been given such an instrument as a tribute to his patron’s status? As Richard Rastall has shown, minstrels could become symbolic representatives of their lord: ‘A herald represented his master, and it therefore became sacrilege to ofer violence to a royal oicer of arms: in the case of a King of Heralds this principle was taken a step further, and he not only wore the coat of arms of the monarch whose proxy he was but in addition was crowned and consecrated.’24 Some conirmation of this practice is ofered by John Barbour in The Bruce (composed c. 1375) in a passage describing how Gib Harper, herald-minstrel of Edward the Bruce, brother of the famous Robert, is killed in battle against the English while wearing his lord’s surcoat.25 The story may be entirely apocryphal, but Barbour found it credible, which suggests it may bear at least some resemblance to contemporary practice. It certainly seems that in the irst decades of the 14th century the citole was a fashionable instrument at court. Edward II employed at least two citolers for most of his reign, as Rastall notes in his contribution to this volume.26 However, Edward II’s harpers seem to have been of higher dignity: the harper William de Morley, for example, became Roy de North, one of the King of Minstrels or King of Heralds (the terms being used synonymously), whose chief duty was the regulation of coats of arms.27 It seems doubtful that the association between the monarch and his citolers, a less prestigious group, would be suicient to account for the purchase of such an elaborate instrument, although as Buehler-McWilliams notes, the king was clearly fond of his citolers.28 An amateur who wished to accompany himself or herself while singing love songs seems a more likely possibility. The literary references collected by Laurence Wright and Alice Margerum suggest that the citole was regarded as well suited for a range of people, including jongleurs and students, but also gentlefolk, both men and women, who wished to demonstrate their cultural sophistication.29 Le clef d’amors, a 14th-century manual on courtly seduction based on Ovid’s Ars amatoria, advises young women to learn to sing and to play the psaltery, tambourine, gittern or citole, for this ‘most drives us men mad’ (‘c’est cen qui de tout nous afole’).30 Another suggestive account comes from Gilles li Muisis (d. 1352), who became abbot of St Martin in Tournai and wrote satires on the moral corruption of his day. In his account of the Beguines, lay women who lived a semi-monastic life (a group which on the whole he praises), he says that in his childhood he saw students in Paris playing citoles to amuse the Beguines and using them for caroles (circle dances): Je vic en men enfanche festyer de chistolles Les clers parisyens revenant des escolles, Et que privéement on fasoit des karolles: C’estoit trèstout reviaus, en riens n’estoient folles.31 I saw in my childhood the students of Paris celebrating with citoles as they came back from the schools, and I saw that in private they held round dances. It was a great amusement, but the Beguines did not commit folly. This kind of behaviour might have been acceptable in earlier times, but it clearly makes Gilles uneasy, and while he admits that one must allow some relaxation (for a bow bent too far will be damaged) he goes on to stress the need to monitor the young Beguines more closely. If we turn to English texts of the period, we will ind something of the same ambivalence, with the citole being associated with social accomplishment and even courtly lirtation as well as with moral probity. There are two texts in particular that may shed some light on the paradox of the restrained subject matter of the British Museum citole’s carving, although they do not resolve it: an Anglo-Norman dialogue known as La geste de Blanchelour e de Florence and the tale of Apollonius of Tyre and his daughter Thaisis, John Gower’s Confessio Amantis. La geste de Blanchelour e de Florence is a short poem that is ostensibly devoted to a debate over who makes a better lover, a knight or a clerk, and was translated at some point in the second half of the 13th century into Anglo-Norman by a man known only as Brykulle.32 The debate is conducted by two ladies, Blanchelour and Florence, giving the poem its name. (It bears no connection to the much better known romance read by Flamenca, Floire et Blanchelor). Much of Brykulle’s poem, however, is actually devoted to long lists of precious stones, birds, trees and musical instruments, as if the poet’s intention was linguistic instruction.33 The poem begins when the narrator enters a garden of love and there hears a range of music: Deleez en un gardin entroi, D’amour estoit plein e de joye, Si come vous ert ja countée: Citole i ot e viele E synphan, q’amour novele. Qe doucement i font menée; Tabours, trompe e la leüte Flour de lice, gitere e dewte Q’au delit furent sonée, Rubibe, qoor e sautrie, Harpe, tymbre tot autresie, Of le chaunceon corounée, Love and Measure | 41 Chaunte come en armonie De douz motette e balerie De sautour e jugelour. Tympan, orgues e busines Cheverie, tube, estume e chimbes, Fasoient notes de grant douceour. Corne, sarzenois e clarion Gyge, estru of le douz son Furent sonée tot entour. Une fountaigne que i sourdoit En quatre russeaus s’espandoit En la gravele of grant lusour.34 The poem delights in evoking a profusion of instruments and musical styles, but either the poet was cavalier in his terminology or the terminology proved too much for the scribe. Paul Meyer, who transcribed the poem in the 19th century, suggested a number of possible emendations, reading giterne for gitere, rewte (rote) for dewte, sautor (tumbler) for santour, estive (pipe) for estume and admitting himself baled by estru. Charles Oulmont, who edited the poem, suggested that dewte should be some form of doucine (trumpet), whereas Wright believed that it should be lewte (lute).35 The Anglo-Norman Dictionary can only surmise that the leur-de-lis is some kind of musical instrument and lists no other examples, but does identify the busines (or bubines) as trumpets.36 Oulmont suggested that estru was simply some kind of instrument.37 With these additions, the passage might be translated as follows: From there I entered into a garden that was illed with love and joy, just as I have told you. There I heard the citole and the vielle, and the symphony, which renews love, all of which were sweetly joined together. There were tabors, the trumpet and the lute, the leur-de-lis, the gittern and the lute, all of which were played aloud delightfully. The rebec, the horn and the psaltery, the harp, the tambourine and all the others, with songs in doubled rhymes, sung out in harmony in the sweet motets and instrumental playing of the tumbler and the jongleur. The tambourine, the organ, and trumpets, the bagpipes, trumpet, pipe and cymbals all made most sweet notes. The horn, Saracen horn, clarion, iddle and the sweet-sounding estru were playing all around. There was a fountain that sprang up there and spread out into four streams whose stones were of great brilliance. With this last couplet, the poet shifts from a catalogue of musical instruments to one of precious stones. The didactic intent of this poem is in keeping with the single manuscript that preserves it, which was formerly in the library of Sir Thomas Phillipps at Cheltenham (as MS 25970) and is now in Princeton University Library (Taylor MS 12). It is a collection of Anglo-Norman verse that was copied in the second quarter of the 14th century, and thus at least half a century after the poem was composed.38 As Meyer noted, what has survived is actually the end of a manuscript; it is in gatherings of eight, and the quire numerals indicate that the irst 13 gatherings (104 folios) are missing. The manuscript now consists of seven items, the irst being an Anglo-Norman French verse translation of three letters pertaining to the rights of King Edward I in Scotland. In this manuscript these letters are ascribed to Pierre de Langtoft and they accompany his chronicle in the two other manuscripts that preserve them. 42 | The British Museum Citole It seems likely then, as Meyer irst suggested, that the missing gatherings were devoted to part of de Langtoft’s Chronicle.39 The second item, Les sept choses que Dieu hait (The Seven Things that God Hates), is a short allegory of 99 lines describing the seven ministers of the devil, each of whom embodies one of the seven things hated by God as listed in Proverbs 6: 17–19: pride, lying, shedding the blood of innocents, plotting villainy, running quickly into evil, bearing false witness and sowing discord between brothers.40 The third item is La house partie (The Divided Blanket), a moral exemplum of 274 lines, in which a greedy man whose father has given him all his wealth sends his own son to drive him from the house. The lesson comes when the boy cuts a blanket in two and gives half to his grandfather, explaining that he is saving the second half for his father when he is driven out in his turn. The fourth item, Les trois savoirs, is another short moral story in which a bird wins his freedom by promising three pieces of knowledge to a peasant who has trapped him: don’t believe everything people tell you; don’t desire what you can’t have; and don’t lament things you have lost.41 The ifth item is the Doctrinal sauvage, a popular moral treatise on court virtues and manners that survives in nearly 40 manuscripts, six of them Anglo-Norman.42 The sixth is Blanchelour et Florence. The last item is the satirical allegory, the Lettre de l’Emperour Orgueil written by the Franciscan Nicole Bozon.43 Someone has also copied onto blank pages some maxims warning women to keep themselves chaste and lovers to avoid third parties.44 The collection would appeal to a serious minded cleric or courtier, a man who could appreciate the court satire and the strictures against women, perhaps someone not unlike de Langtoft himself.45 The vocabulary lists, however, raise the possibility that the material was intended for instruction.46 By the early 14th century, Anglo-Norman was often a learned language. What M.D. Legge says of Blanchelour et Florence might be said of the manuscript as a whole: ‘apparently the didactic intention was twofold: to teach French and morality at one and the same time by means of a sugared pill’.47 Although the scribe’s diiculties with the names of so many of the instruments suggest that he himself was not a particularly enthusiastic musician, the inclusion of this musical list in Blanchelour et Florence, and the inclusion of that poem in the collection as a whole, does imply that some knowledge of music was considered a itting part of the culture and moral education of young gentlefolk.48 There are many references to the citole in the literature of the period. They can be found in French romances such as Adenet le Roi’s Cléomadès or Blanchelour et Florence, and in Middle English romances such as Sir Cleges and the Laud Troy Book. They also appear in works such as Robert Mannyng’s Chronicle, which includes a long account of Arthur’s coronation feast, although most of the references seem formulaic, part of a topos of plenitude which insists that a proper feast must have music and the music must be from as many diferent instruments as possible. One account that goes beyond these conventions, although it comes at the very end of the century, is the tale of Apollonius of Tyre and his daughter Thaisis (or Thaise in the Middle English) in Book VIII of Gower’s Confessio Amantis (The Lover’s Confession), completed in 1390. Apollonius, having revealed King Antiochus’s incestuous relation with his daughter, lees Antioch and arrives in Pentapolis, where he wins the favour of the king for his skill in the athletic games and is welcomed to the court. When Apollonius is overcome by his memories, the king calls on his daughter to cheer their guest by playing the harp. When she asks him how he likes the performance, Apollonius is critical (in Gower’s version politely critical): ‘Ma dame, certes wel’, he seide, ‘Bot if ye the mesure pleide Which, if you list, I schal you liere, It were a glad thing for to hiere.’ (lines 767–70). 49 He then performs on the harp with ‘a vois celestial’ (line 780), as ‘thogh that he an angel were’ (line 782), conirming that he is ‘of gret gentilesse’ (789). At the request of the princess, Apollonius becomes her tutor: He tawhte hir til sche was certein Of harpe, of citole, and of rote, With many a tun and many a note Upon musique, upon mesure, And of hir harpe the temprure [tuning] He tawhte hire ek, as he wel couthe. (lines 828–33) Apollonius and the princess (whom Gower never actually names) fall in love, marry and have a daughter, Thaisis, but Apollonius (through elaborate circumstances) is separated from his wife, whom he believes to be dead, and later from his daughter who is kidnapped by pirates. Music plays a crucial role irst in preserving Thaisis and ultimately in reuniting her with her father. She is sold to a brothel keeper, but preserves her chastity by reducing her would-be clients to tears with the story of her sorrows. She proposes that her owner should instead hire her out to teach young women. Sche can the wisdom of a clerk, Sche can of every lusti werk [desirable skill] Which to a gentil womman longeth, And some of hem sche underfongeth [took in as students] To the citole and to the harpe, And whom it liketh for to carpe Proverbes and demandes slyhe [cunning riddles] An other such thei nevere syhe, Which that science so wel tawhte. (lines 1483–91) Thaisis is in efect running a inishing school for young ladies, and she teaches two things: a certain kind of badinage (proverbs and riddles) and how to play the harp and the citole, echoing the musical instruction that her father once gave her mother. The story is completed by music for when Apollonius arrives in the same city after being shipwrecked, its ruler tries to cheer him by having the young woman, by now renowned as a musician, play to him on the harp. She plays ‘lich an angel’ (1671) and then tells him jokes, riddles and proverbs. Although it is not until she tells him her lineage that he inally recognizes her, it is music that brings them together and it is in her mastery of music, speciically the harp and citole, that demonstrates that she shares his moral virtue. As Russell Peck notes, ‘Playing the harp teaches “mesure”…that is, proportion, moderation, and harmony, all crucial virtues for good kingship’.50 The crucial virtue of mesure is set against the overall subject of Book VIII, the contrast between ordered and disordered love illustrated in the story of Apollonius. The harp is clearly the dominant symbolic instrument in Gower’s account, as it is in other scenes of recognition in romance. When in the Anglo-Norman Horn the eponymous hero returns in disguise for the last time to rescue his beloved, he and his men claim to play the harp and rote and to sing, while in the Middle English versions of the story they claim to be harpers and gigours (that is, iddlers).51 When the eponymous heroine of the romance Silence disguises herself as a jongleur she plays on the harp and viele.52 Sir Orfeo, in the Middle English romance of that name, ‘mest of ani thing/ Lovede the gle of harping’.53 Gower gives the citole a distinct presence, however, making its mastery both a social accomplishment and a sign of self-control. Gower generally overwrites the Greek customs described in his sources, often drawing upon conventions that were well established in French romances two centuries earlier then when he does so. It is striking then that the reference to the entertaining patter that Thaisis teaches is speciic and unusual, as if Gower might actually be relecting the social mores of his day. But even if his account is shaped more by literary form than by social reality, it still suggests the symbolic value attached to music during the period, speciically the music of the harp and citole, and how it could be associated with social and moral order. Of course the musical instruction ofered by Apollonius and his daughter, a single instance in a literary work, does not establish that in Gower’s day gentlewomen were commonly taught to play the citole. But the story suggests that at least some people would have regarded the citole as a suitable instrument for young gentlewomen. There is no reason to suppose that the instrument’s reputation was lower at the beginning of the 14th century. Many people played the citole, including students and jongleurs, but for gentlewomen its mastery could be seen not just as an amusement but as a virtuous accomplishment. Such associations might induce a wealthy patron to commission for his daughter or niece a citole that was richly carved, but restrained in its subject matter, and indeed it has been suggested that the relatively small size of the citole might make it suitable for a child.54 The British Museum citole then might be seen not so much as an instrument it for a queen, but as an instrument it for a princess, or at least for a young gentlewoman from a very wealthy family. Notes 1 Kevin et al. 2008 (Appendix A, this volume, pp. 111–24). 2 At the 2010 British Museum citole conference, Ann Glasscock noted that the carving of the citole bears a considerable resemblance to that of the stone leaves in the chapter house at Southwell Minster, Nottinghamshire, which is dated to the late 13th century. Also in this volume, Phillip Lindley conirms that the citole matched examples of stone carving from 1280–1340, but notes that work from the end of this period could often draw on earlier forms, concluding that nothing about its carving suggested that the citole was later than 1330, but that the density of its carving might suggest it was later than 1310 (see pp. 1–14). 3 See Lindley, this volume, p. 13. 4 Buehler-McWilliams 2007, 34 (Appendix B, this volume, p. 137). 5 This was demonstrated by Mark Rimple at the 2010 British Museum citole conference in his paper ‘Techniques for the unaccompanied performance of medieval estampies on a Love and Measure | 43 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 reproduction of the British Museum citole: a lecturedemonstration’. See Molina, this volume, pp. 105, 108. Remnant and Marks 1980, 98–9. See Glasscock, this volume, p. 82. One example of such a pattern book is the Macclesield Alphabet Book of about 1500 (British Library MS Add. MS 88887), which contains numerous elaborate zoomorphic initials. As of October 2011 it was on display at the ‘Sir John Ritblat Gallery: Treasures of the British Library’. Remnant and Marks 1980. According to Hunt 2008, 369, ‘about half of the surviving twelfth-century manuscripts containing French texts come from English Benedictine houses and almost half of these are Psalters’. Dufy 2006, 180 n. 11. For a succinct description of the particular selection of prayers that made up the Book of Hours and its development from the Breviary and Psalter, see Donovan 1991 25–6 and Dufy 2006, 5–7. A detailed account of the day’s progress through these prayers is ofered by Donovan 1991, 42–131. On the circulation of prayer books in England, see Morgan 2008, 306–16, and Dufy 2006, 10–11 and 180, n. 22, citing Morgan’s database. Dufy 2006, 4. Donovan 1991, 9–24. Morgan Library MS M 739, which dates from before 1219, may be the earliest surviving Continental Book of Hours. Such images have been read as a release of unconscious desires, see Schapiro 1977 and 1979, and as a conscious play relecting a medieval sense of living in a fallen world, see Camille 1992, 39–40, 50–5. For a selection of such images, see Randall 1966 and Bovey 2002. Porter 1962, lines 2292–7. I have ofered a more literal translation. See Hill 1965, who points to an anecdote reported by Gerald of Wales that turns on the deliberate misinterpretation of this line. The process of the courtship and the interplay of religious and erotic language that it engenders is described by Olson 1958, Dragonetti 1982, Solterer 1985 and Gaunt 2006, 3–4. Rector 2014. I would like to thank Professor Rector for sharing a copy of this paper with me in draft. On the associations of the Psalter with romans (i.e. French) and with romance as a literary genre, see Rector 2009. Bumke 1991, 340. Buehler 2002, 58–9 and private correspondence with Dr Margerum, who I thank for much helpful guidance on the citole. Rastall 1968, vol. I, 31–2. Barbour 1997, XVIII, lines 90–174. See Rastall, this volume, pp. 46–8. Rastall 1968, vol. I, 28–9; 1976, 12. Buehler 2002, 55. See Margerum, this volume, pp. 32–5. Doutrepont 1890, 97, lines 2605–8. I would like to thank Kate Buehler-McWilliams for this reference. 44 | The British Museum Citole 31 Kervyn de Lettenhove 1882, vol. I, 240. 32 The man probably derived his name from the parish of Brickhill in Buckinghamshire. J.C. Russell, in his eforts to identify the poet, tends to assume that he must be one of the men bearing that name who happen to have been recorded in the surviving records: William de Brykhulle, dean of St John of Chester and a royal clerk in about 1295; a contemporary Hugh de Brykhulle, ‘who appears frequently upon both royal and personal business’; and Elias of Brichulle, a canon of Hereford. See Russell 1931, 259, and 1936, 24, n. 1, and on Banstre, the author of the original English poem, Russell 1936, 183–4. 33 Legge 1963, 335. 34 Meyer 1908, 224–5; Oulmont 1911, 167–83, lines 13–36. I have made one emendation to Meyer’s and Oulmont’s punctuation. 35 Wright 1977, 38. See also Oulmont 1911, 168. 36 Anglo-Norman Dictionary, s.v. lur. 37 The Anglo-Norman Dictionary also notes that the word estru could mean either stirrup or gisarme, a kind of battle axe. The term ‘axe’, in particular, might conceivably be extended to apply to an instrument, as it often has been to the modern saxophone and electric guitar. 38 Meyer 1908; Dean and Bolton 1999. For a more recent description of the manuscript see Bennett et al. 1991 and Skemer 2013. 39 Dean and Bolton 1999, no. 66, listing the known manuscripts of de Langtoft’s Chronicle, which existed in several redactions. A full copy would run to over 9,000 lines and might ill nearly 200 folios, but partial copies were much more common. 40 Les trois savoirs, Meyer 1908, 212–15. 41 Lines 122–34. Wolfgang 1989 ofers a partial transcription. 42 Sakari 1967; Archive de la littérature du Moyen Âge (http://www.arlima. net/ad/doctrinal_sauvage.html). 43 Vising 1919. 44 Dean and Bolton 1999, no. 203. 45 On eforts to identify de Langtoft, see Summerield 1994, 329 and n. 30. 46 Rothwell 1968, but note the recent qualiications of the view that Anglo-Norman was exclusively a learned language by Ingham 2009. 47 Legge 1963, 335. 48 Bumke 1991, 189–91, 336. 49 Gower 2000, vol. 1, viii. 50 Ibid., vol. 1, 334, note to line 777. 51 Sands 1966, lines 1483–4. 52 Roche-Mahdi 1992, line 3158. 53 Laskaya and Salisbury 1995, lines 33–4. 54 A suggestion made by David Charles Roberts in conversation with Alice Margerum and conirmed in private e-mail correspondence of 27 October 2011. Chapter 4 Citolers in the Household of the King of England Richard Rastall Introduction The main sources of information about English royal minstrels are the inancial records of the royal households. Citolers are found in the king’s household during the 14th century, in the reigns of Edward I (r. 1272–1307), Edward II (r. 1307–27) and Edward III (r. 1327–77). It is possible that citolers were employed earlier than 1296, the starting date for my search, but limited searches before that date suggest otherwise. Records of dependent and related royal households provide no material on citolers, and the same is true of the non-royal households I searched and the household of the King of Scots in the same period.1 While citolers appear only within a limited timeframe and were apparently always few in number, the information gleaned from the royal account books has recently been supplemented (from sources such as the Patent Rolls and coroners’ inquest records) by Alice Margerum.2 We must start with some matters that will explain this material and how it can be used. First, a household is not a building but a group of people, the family (in the modern sense) and their oicials, attendants and servants, who form a social and administrative unit. In the English court the principal household was the king’s; but the queen, the Prince of Wales and the younger children of the king normally had their own households, with largely distinct personnel and accounts. These secondary households were inancially dependent on the king’s, at least until the principal achieved independence through income from land held. This was usually efected by gift of the king, who provided income for his sons as they became old enough to need their own independent households. For practical reasons, personnel were sometimes transferred from one household to another: this could be permanent, such as promotion to the king’s household, or a temporary borrowing for a certain period of time.3 The king’s household consisted of a large number of departments, each with its own staf.4 Each department kept its own accounts, in the form of receipts, lists of expenses, and so on, and these were submitted at the end of the regnal year to the Wardrobe, the inancial oice of the king’s household. (The regnal year ran from the day on which the king acceded to the throne, so it is diferent for each reign: see Table 1). The Wardrobe was originally a repository for the king’s clothing, jewels and other valuables, but it grew into a large department dealing with the household’s inances.5 It was there that the accounts for the year were made into two books, one for the Keeper and one for the Controller (Contrarotulator, or keeper of the counter-roll) as a permanent record to be submitted to the Exchequer for audit.6 The audit was supposed to happen soon after the end of each regnal year, but there was sometimes a considerable delay.7 For that reason, members of the household were often paid long in arrears, sometimes in the form of part-payments made over a considerable period. In theory the departmental records from which the Keeper’s and Controller’s books were made up were also retained. In addition to the Keeper’s and Controller’s books for any year, therefore, we might ind the journals recording the daily expenses in gifts and small payments for many diferent purposes, and such materials as receipts. These last documents were small pieces of parchment recording the Citolers in the Household of the King of England | 45 Table 1 Regnal years of Edward I, Edward II and Edward III All dates given here are new-style dates, with the year beginning on 1 January Edward I acceded 20 November 1272, died 7 July 1307 Therefore: 1 Ed I = 20 November 1272–19 November 1273 25 Ed I = 20 November 1296–19 November 1297 30 Ed I = 20 November 1301–19 Nov 1302 35 Ed I = 20 November 1306–7 July 1307 Edward II acceded 8 July 1307, deposed 20 January 1327 Therefore: 1 Ed II = 8 July 1307–7 July 1308 10 Ed II = 8 July 1316–7 July 1317 20 Ed II = 8 July 1326 – 20 January 1327 Edward III acceded 25 January 1327, died 21 June 1377 Therefore: 1 Ed III = 25 January 1327–24 January 1328 20 Ed III = 25 January 1346–24 January 1347 50 Ed III = 25 January 1376–24 January 1377 51 Ed III = 25 January 1377–21 June 1377 delivery of wages or robes, for instance, bearing the seal of the recipient as his signature. The survival of these records is patchy. Most were archived at the Exchequer (in Westminster Hall and then in the Tower of London), but some may not have been sent for audit (those now at Berkeley Castle in Gloucestershire are probably examples of this). The archived documents were eventually transferred to the Public Record Oice, now the National Archives. During antiquarian activity in the late 18th and 19th centuries, however, records were occasionally borrowed by scholars, and inevitably some were not returned. On the death of the scholar concerned these would be disposed of as his personal property, eventually inding their way into the larger public and private collections. As a result, there are now royal household accounts in the British Library (some of the most visually attractive specimens, formerly in the British Museum), the Bodleian Library in Oxford, the John Rylands University Library in Manchester and the library of the Society of Antiquaries in London. Although the Wardrobe was the main oice through which the king made payments, the Chamber (his private apartments, also housing his secretariat in the 14th century) generated its own inancial records. During Edward II’s reign, however, many payments of the kind that Edward I made through the Wardrobe were made through the Chamber.8 Among these are payments to minstrels. Wardrobe and Chamber scribes did not always know who people were and what they did, so it is often diicult to identify particular persons. Livery lists are useful in distinguishing minstrels by name and as a group, but isolated payments may cause diiculty. The scribes, after all, were not trying to help present-day researchers. At certain periods, therefore, it is impossible to establish precisely who was among the royal minstrels. This problem afects the information available about the king’s citolers. The royal minstrels almost all ranked as valetti or scutiferi, lower than the household knights and clerks but higher than the garciones (pages) who probably combined the 46 | The British Museum Citole functions of servant and apprentice to a department or senior member of the household. The rank between, valettus (‘valet’ or ‘yeoman’), was held by the vigilatores (household watchmen, who were often capable of minstrelsy) and some junior minstrels; most minstrels held the rank of scutifer, or ‘squire’. For much of the 14th and 15th centuries, a valettus was paid 4½d a day, while a scutifer took 7½d, so the diference between junior and senior minstrels was considerable. Citolers in the king’s household Six minstrels appearing in the records of the king’s household have been thought to be citolers: the records concerned, with source references, are calendared in Table 2. As we shall see, two of these men were probably not citolers. In the quotations that follow, I have silently expanded scribal abbreviations, while an apostrophe indicates an abbreviation that could not be expanded. In some cases, as is not unusual, a terminal lourish seems to be purely decorative. Sums of money are in pre-decimal currency, in which the pound (li[bra]) was divided into 20 shillings (s[olidi]), each of 12 pence (d[enarii]). Throughout the late Middle Ages the mark, worth 13.4d, was in use as an accounting unit although the coin no longer existed. (The half-mark was still in use as a coin, however, worth 6.8d.) 1) Janyn the citoler ‘Janyn le Citoler’ appears in the list of minstrels rewarded for performing at the Pentecost celebrations in 34 Ed I (on 22 May 1306).9 He was probably not a royal minstrel, for he appears in a section of mainly non-royal minstrels earning only 1 mark each. Although he has no ailiation noted, he was probably a liveried minstrel employed by a noble. We do not hear of him again. 2) Thomas Dynys Thomas Dynys was probably not a citoler, but he must be discussed here. He appears only in the record of a payment made on 20 May 6 Ed II (1313): Quidam menestrali Regis: Juoni Vala le Cetoler et Thome Dynys socio suo de dono Regis in precio duorum hakeneiorum emptorum de Willelmo Blaunkpayn et Willelmo le Taverner de Cantuaria et datorum eisdem iv li. vj s. viij d. Eisdem in precio duarum sellarum emptorum apud Cantuaria et datorum eisdem xj s. per manus proprias apud Cantuaria xx die Maij Summa iv li. xvij s. viij d. Certain minstrels of the king: To Ivo Vala the citoler and Thomas Dynys his companion, by gift of the king, for the price of two hackneys bought from William Blaunkpayn and William Taverner of Canterbury and given to them £4.6.8d To the same, for the price of two saddles bought at Canterbury and given to them 11.0d By their own hands at Canterbury, 20 May (1313) Total £4.17.8d We shall return to Ivo Vala below (no. 3). Thomas Dynys is a name that does not occur again: he is unlikely to be the same as Thomas Citoler (below, no. 4). Table 2 Citolers in royal records Documents beginning E101, E403, E36 and C54 are in the National Archives; those from the Additional MSS, Harley, Stowe and Cotton (Nero section) collections are in the British Library. Most of these items are calendared in Rastall 1968, vol. 2, appendix A. Items not calendared there are those from the Society of Antiquaries MSS 121 and 122, which were transcribed more recently, and those asterisked, which were kindly brought to my notice by Alice Margerum. 34 Ed I 23 May (1306): Janyn le Citoler appears among the minstrels performing at the Pentecost celebrations, when 200 marks (£133.6.8d) were distributed to heralds and minstrels. Janyn was probably not a royal minstrel, although perhaps employed by a noble. (A mark was 13.4d, or two-thirds of a pound.) E101.369.11 (Keeper), f. 96 E101.369.6: detailed lists 6 Ed II 20 May (1313): payment to Ivo Vala and Thomas Dynys his socius for two horses and two saddles E101.375.8, f. 29v 10 Ed II 23 January (1317): part-payment of money owed to Thomas, citoler.* Nero C viii, f. 192v ?11 Ed II 21 July (?1317): part-payment of money owed to Thomas, citoler, minstrel of the king.* Nero C viii, f. 195v 11 Ed II 22 November (1317): Payment to Ivo Vala for the replacement of a horse. Soc. of Antiquaries MS 121, p. 57 ?11 Ed II 15 April (?1318): part-payment to Thomas, citoler, king’s minstrel, for money owed to him for his war wages and equipment, and for compensation for his horses.* Nero C viii, f. 196v 11 Ed II 14 April (1320) Payment to Ivo Vala for summer robes.* Soc. of Antiquaries MS 121, p. 130 13 Ed II A list of squires sine sociis given robes for the whole year includes Ivo Vala and Thomas, citoler. By agreement made anno 16. Add. 17362, f. 57v 17 Ed II 24 June (1324): a gift to Master Richard Dorre (string-player), Vala (citoler) and Henry de Neusom (harper) E101.380.4 (Chamber accounts), f. 11 18 Ed II 11 April (1325): To Vala the king’s citoler, a gift for his travelling expenses. E101.380.4, f. 31 18 Ed II 24 August (1324): Thomas the citoler [the king’s minstrel?] has a house in the parish of St Bennet Gracechurch in Bridge Ward, London.* London, Guildhall Library, MS Roll C: calendared in Sharpe1913, 92. 19 Ed II Ivo Vala among the minstrels receiving clothing for going to France with the king.* E101.381.11, m. 42 19 Ed II 16 September (1324): Payment to Annete, the wife of Vala the king’s citoler, for her expenses in coming from London to Westminster to speak to her husband, going overseas with the Earl of Chester. Soc. of Antiquaries MS 122, p. 25 19 Ed II 9 January (1325): Payment to Vala, the king’s citoler, for his expenses in travelling to Lonsdale. Soc. of Antiquaries MS 122, p. 47 30 January (1326): Payment to Henry Neusom, the king’s harper, and Richardyn, the king’s citoler, making their minstrelsies before the king and the Countess Marshal, who was dining with the king. (Richardyn the citoler is probably an error for Richard the vidulator.) Soc. of Antiquaries MS 122, p. 50 Debts for wages, 19th and 20th years: 3.9d owed to Ivo Vala. E101.381.6, f. 4v 19 Ed II 20 Ed II 1–2 Ed III 3.9d to Ivo Vala for wages. E101.383.8, f. 18 4 Ed III 12 July (1330): Liveries to Thomas the citoler and Ivo Vala. Then Ivo takes winter robes, anno 3, for himself and Thomas. Vala’s receipt, like those of the gitterner Richard Bottore and the piper John Harding, still has his seal attached. E101.385.4, irst group, no. 30 8 Ed III Debts for wages and robes to Thomas, citoler (£4), and Ivo Vala (60.0d) – separately, and with no distinction of rank. E101.387.5, ff. 5v, 6v 8–11 Ed III Payment for winter robes, annis 8, 9, 10 and 11, to Thomas, citoler Nero C viii, ff. 226, 228, 229v and 231 9 Ed III Increased wages in war time to squires of the king’s household, including Thomas, citoler Nero C viii, f. 239v 9 Ed III 22 October anno 9 (1335), at ?Berwick-upon-Tweed: payment to Thomas, citoler, to replace a horse Nero C viii, f. 275 10 or11 Ed III Petition by Agnes, widow of Ivo Vala, to the King and Council, for payment of £4.8.0d due to Ivo at his death.* London, National Archives, SC/8/80/3990 (former Parliamentary Petition 8289) 11–12 Ed III Debts to Thomas, citoler, for wages and robes (probably annis 10 and 11) E101.388.9, f.32 12 Ed III 11 July (1338): winter and summer robes to Thomas, citoler E101.388.5, m. 11 12 Ed III 22 July (1338): part-payment to Thomas, citoler, of war-wages owed to him from anno 8 and anno 9.* E403.300, m. 20 13 Ed III Winter robes anno 12 and summer and winter robes anno 13 to Thomas, citoler E36.203, f. 123 Citolers in the Household of the King of England | 47 Table 2 continued 13–14 Ed III Thomas, citoler, among 38 servants reimbursed at one mark each (13.4d) for the transport of two horses to England, January anno 13 and February anno 14 (i.e. 1341) E36.203, f. 155v 14 Ed III Wages to Thomas Citoler for service to the king overseas £6.6.0d* C54.167(ii), m. 43 16–17 Ed III Winter robes anno 16 and summer and winter robes anno 17 to Thomas, citoler E36.204, f. 90 ?18–21 Ed III List of Edward III’s minstrels in France includes 5 trumpeters, 1 citoler, 5 pipers, 1 taborer, 2 clarioners, 1 nakerer, 1 iddler and 3 waits.* Stowe 570 (17th-century transcript), f. 229 (tentatively dated 16 or 17 Ed III) Harley 782 (17th-century transcript), f. 63, has the same list, here dated 18–21 Ed III 34–5 Ed III 22 February (1361): Christmas robe for John, citoler, one of the king’s minstrels E101.393.15, m. 3 The scribes evidently distinguished the latter by his instrument, but Dynys by his surname. ‘Dynys’ may be a place name, perhaps St Denis in Paris. Vala and Dynys are described as socii (companions), which denotes those in the household who would normally be lodged together, eat together and could act for each other in such matters as receiving payments. The term implies colleagues or close associates, perhaps partners in the sense that they formed a working unit: for minstrels it seems to imply that they performed together. This has sometimes been taken to mean that Thomas Dynys, like Ivo Vala, was a citoler. As will be suggested later, this is unlikely to be the case, for there is no evidence that royal citolers performed together. 3) Ivo Vala Ivo Vala’s surname may indicate that he came from Valls in Catalonia or one of the areas called Valais (in Burgundy, Switzerland and the Italian Alps), although the forename was popular especially in Normandy and Brittany. Scribes wrote his forename as Ivo: recent alternatives beginning with a J are probably due to misreadings of the dative case (Ivoni, written as Juoni).10 The payment of 6 Ed II (20 May 1313) which is our only record of Thomas Dynys is also Ivo’s irst appearance. Ivo was a scutifer (squire) of the household as early as 13 Ed II (apparently at Christmas 1319), and probably much earlier. As he was a socius of Thomas Dynys in 6 Ed II, it is likely that Ivo and Dynys were both squires at that date: socii appear always to have been of equal rank in order to act for one another. Plate 1 The seal of Ivo Vala, still afixed to a receipt from 1330. The design seems to include foliage and birds 48 | The British Museum Citole The robes list of Christmas 1319 (13 Ed II) has Thomas Citoler and Ivo listed among squires sine sociis (without companions): this is another indication that Thomas Citoler was not the same as Thomas Dynys, who had presumably died or otherwise left royal service, leaving Ivo without a socius. If I am right that citolers did not perform as a duo (see section on performance, below), Thomas Citoler was unlikely to become Ivo Vala’s socius, for reasons already given. Ivo was paid for the replacement of a horse on 22 November 1317 (11 Ed II); and on 24 June 1324 (17 Ed II) he was rewarded, perhaps for minstrelsy, in company with the string player Richard Dorre and the harper Henry de Neusom:11 Dimeigne le xxiv iour de J[u]yn a Tonebrigge: A mestre Richard Dorre vijler Vala citoler Henri de Neusom harpour de donn le Roi nunciant’ Richard de Mereworth par co’ xl s. Summa xl s. de donn Sunday 24 June (1324), at Tonbridge: To Master Richard Dorre, string player, Vala, citoler, [and] Henry Neusom, harper, of the king’s gift, ? by the hands of Richard Mereworth, by account made. 40.0d Total 40.0d by gift Vala was given travelling expenses in 18 Ed II (on 11 April 1325), and again the following year when he travelled independently to Lonsdale. In late September 19 Ed II (i.e. 1325) he went to France with the Earl of Chester (the 13-year-old future Edward III), but he was in England again in early January 1326. Before his departure to France he was visited at Westminster by his wife, perhaps in order to settle inancial arrangements during his absence: the king made a gift for her expenses in returning to London, where presumably she and Ivo lived. Although Ivo and Thomas Citoler are not described as socii, Ivo took robes for himself and Thomas early in Edward III’s reign, on 12 July 4 Ed III (1330). Ivo’s seal is attached to this receipt (Pl. 1): the words are no longer legible, but the main part of the design seems to include foliage and birds (perhaps a visual pun on ivus (yew wood), from which the name Ivo is derived).12 Ivo last appears in a list of wages owed in 8 Ed III (1334–5), but he seems not to have received winter robes that year. He may have been dead by Christmas 1334, by which time he had been in royal service under Edward II and Edward III for over 20 years. At some time in 10 or 11 Ed III (1336–8), Ivo’s widow, Agnes, petitioned for payment of £4.8.0d that had been due to Ivo at the time of his death:13 A nostre seigneur le Roi et son consail prie Agnes iadis la femme Ive vala et executrice quelle pensse avoir brief as Tresorier’ et as chamberleins de son Escheker’ de estre paie de iiij li. viij s. sicome piert’ par dieux billes de la garderobe nostre Seigneur le Roi quore est que soict’ dewes au dit’ Ive desicome le dit’ Ive ad servy le piere nostre Seigneur le Roi et a nostre seigneur le Roi quore est en tout son temps. To our lord the king and his council, Agnes, formerly wife of Ivo Vala and his executrix, petitions that she wishes to have a writ to the Treasurer and Chamberlains of his Exchequer to be paid £4.8.0d as appears in two bills of the Wardrobe of our lord the king that now is, which is due to the said Ivo for the service of the said Ivo to the father of our lord the king and to our lord the king that now is, for all his life. This small slip of parchment is endorsed with the following instruction: [ ][ ] as Tresorer’ et Chamberleins del Escheker’ que veuez les billes dont ceste peticion fait mencion sils trofent’ que la dette soit unquore due et clere adonques facent paiement ou co[n]venable assignement [The king sends instruction?] to the Treasurer and Chamberlain of the Exchequer that they view the bills of which this petition makes mention [and that], if they ind that the debt is still due and accurate, then they make payment or a suitable assignment. The two bills concerned, which must have given details of Ivo’s attendance and from which we could have learned the date of his death, have not survived. 4) Thomas Citoler Thomas is irst found in the accounts for 10 Ed II, a part payment being made to him on 23 January (1317). He was almost certainly in royal service then, and it is probably in the following year that he was described as ‘minstrel of the king’. He went to war with the king, apparently as a mounted soldier, and was paid for his service probably in the run-up to the loss of Berwick-upon-Tweed to the Scots in April 1318. Two years later, Thomas appears in the same list of squires sine sociis as Ivo Vala. He may be the ‘Thomas, citoler’ who held a house in the parish of St Bennet Gracechurch (London) in August 1324 (18 Ed II).14 Over the next few years he appears several times in the records: he again went to war in 9 Ed III, and was apparently at Berwick-upon-Tweed on 22 October 1335: Thome citoler pro restauro unius equi sui morelli mortui ibidem eodem die xl s. To Thomas, citoler, for the replacement of his black horse that died, at the same place and on the same day 40.0d He seems to have returned from abroad in late 13 or early 14 Ed III, for in January or February 1341, with other royal servants, he was paid for the transport of his two horses: he had probably attended the king, who returned from a visit to the Low Countries in December 1340. Thomas is last heard of by name in a livery list for 17 Ed III (1343–4), but he may be the citoler in Edward’s entourage for the major campaign in France that started in the spring of 1346. If so, he was at the battle of Crécy on 26 August that year and, if he survived Crécy, at the capture of Calais on 3 August 1347. 5) Richardyn, citoler This minstrel appears in a record of gifts for minstrelsy on 30 January 1326 (19 Ed II), made to Henry Neusom, the king’s harper, and ‘Richardyn cytoler le Roi’. There is no other known record of Richard the citoler, however, and the more common use of plucked string and bowed string together would suggest that this is an error for Richard Dorre the vidulator, perhaps due to a mishearing of ‘vieller’ as ‘citoler’. Jeody le xxx iour de Janvyer: Paie a Henri Newsom harpour le Roi et a Richardyn cytoler le Roi [written over another word] faisent [?] lour mimestrancies [sic] devant le Roi et la contesse mareschal qui mange avec [illegible – le ?] Roi ce iour viq’ eor’ de don par com’ xx s. Thursday 30 January [1326]: paid to Henry Newsom, the king’s harper, and Richardyn, the king’s citoler, making their minstrelsies before the king and the Countess Marshal, who was dining with the king today, to each of them by gift, by account 20.0d. 6) John John the citoler, one of the king’s minstrels, appears in the accounts for 34–5 Ed III, where payment for a Christmas robe was recorded on 22 February 1361. Nothing more is known of him. Performance How are the royal citolers likely to have performed? There is no speciic evidence, but study of the bas (i.e. soft, quiet) minstrels as a whole suggests three possible situations.15 First, a citoler could presumably perform solo. Payments to harpers point very irmly in this direction, and there is evidence that other instruments, such as iddles, could be played alone. Solo performance seems to have been the most common method among the bas minstrels. For citoles this would still be an assumption, however, and the possibility should be treated with reserve. The citole certainly lent itself to solo performance, however, as practical demonstrations during the British Museum citole symposium (4–5 November 2010) and the subsequent concert showed.16 Second, some instruments were almost certainly played in pairs: trumpets and iddles are the most likely examples in the accounts, and there is iconographic and narrative evidence as well. There are items in the records that make pairs of harps a possibility, too, although this is not supported by other types of evidence.17 Playing in pairs does not seem to have been common practice for other instruments, however, so it seems clear that Thomas Dynys, Ivo Vala’s socius, was not a citoler. What other instrument might Dynys have played in duet with a citole? The third performance method for a plucked-string instrument is with a singer or a bowed instrument. This method is hinted at in the payment of a gift to Richard Dorre the string player, Vala the citoler and Henry de Neusom the harper on 24 June 1324 (17 Ed II). The fact that the gift is recorded as a single item suggests that they all performed on a single occasion: and although we cannot Citolers in the Household of the King of England | 49 assume that they performed duets or as a trio, and they certainly might all have performed solo, the possibility of a plucked-string instrument performing with a bowed instrument is a strong one.18 This third method of performance is strongly hinted at also in the queen’s household, where in the reigns of Edward II and Edward III we ind the bowed/plucked combination in a iddler and a psaltery-player employed together. To these were sometimes added a gitterner (the gittern being another plucked instrument); and the queen occasionally had a harper, although apparently as a solo player. Citolers are notably absent from the queen’s household, however, and one wonders why. Indeed, the citole is notably absent from all dependent households. There seems to be no obvious reason for this, except that rhythmic and rather percussive music, to which the citole seems particularly well suited, would be used mainly for social occasions of the type that would normally be hosted by the king. Perhaps this style was considered too harsh for a lady’s private entertainment. In the queen’s household, certainly, the psaltery seems to have been a more acceptable instrument. In any case, the citole’s absence from any but the king’s household underlines the fact that citolers were a fairly rare breed at the English court. The time span noted for royal citolers is also roughly concordant with the iconographic evidence. English depictions suggest a peak in popularity of the citole circa 1300–40, but literary and iconographic evidence shows that the citole was known in various parts of Europe between the late 12th and the late 15th centuries.21 At the edges of this period, however, there are often problems in identifying a citole as distinct from the instruments from which it derived and to which it eventually gave way. These problems provide very good reasons why interdisciplinary activity is much needed in the study of the citole, as well as in the case of other medieval instruments. Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 Chronology The apparent chronology of the citoler at court can be summed up very briely: citolers appear in the royal records only within a short time span, between 1306 and 1361. To be certain that this is accurate we need to follow up available evidence on two fronts. First, records from earlier than 25 Edward I (1296–7) need to be searched thoroughly. Although the Wardrobe accounts are particularly informative in the last few years of Edward I’s reign,19 some records exist for earlier in his reign and a few survive from the reigns of John (r. 1199–1216) and Henry III (r. 1216–72). Second, a thorough check is needed on more records from the reign of Richard II (r. 1377–99) and throughout the 15th century. Here the minstrels are usually identiied by surname rather than by their instrument, and are normally classiied only as ‘minstrel’, or at best ‘still minstrel’ (i.e. bas minstrel). The result of this is that it is diicult to see precisely what instruments were played by minstrels in the royal households, so that there may have been citolers that are now hidden from us. The time span of known citolers in the royal records, 1306–61, is broadly supported by records from elsewhere, although these show a longer period. Alice Margerum has found citolers in Spain from the 1240s onwards, in Paris and England from the 1290s and in Orléans from 1306. English locations for citolers, or people named ‘Citoler’ or ‘le Citoler’, include Westminster, Winchester, Oxford, London, Glasgow, Cambridge, Northampton, Reigate and Wells.20 The possibility that the royal citoler Thomas was the man of that name who held a house in the London parish of St Bennet Gracechurch in August 1324 (18 Ed II) has already been mentioned; and among the various citolers who held property in Oxford, Agnes la Setoler (September 1311) and I. Sitoler (1324–5) could conceivably be Ivo and his wife. In both cases corroborative evidence is needed. 50 | The British Museum Citole 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 Records concerning minstrels are calendared in Rastall 1968, vol. 2. The work is available online at http://www.townwaits.org.uk/ richardrastall.shtml. I am grateful to Dr Margerum for sharing her indings, some of which are acknowledged individually in this chapter. The working of the royal households and their inances was irst explained in Tout 1920–33; for a shorter and updated explanation, see Given-Wilson 1986, passim. Given-Wilson 1986, 13, provides a diagrammatic overview. For the relationship between Wardrobe and Exchequer, see Ibid., 18–19. The name of the Contrarotulator is a reminder that accounts were originally enrolled: that is, the material was written on one side of a parchment membrane, and as each one was completed it was sewn onto the end of the previous membrane. The result could be rolled up for storage. At the time in question some departmental material was still enrolled, but inal accounts for audit were made up as books. As the household records were audited at the end of each regnal year, regnal dating is the system used. For the Chamber, see Given-Wilson 1986, 20. Fourteenth-century Wardrobe records are in Latin, Chamber records in French. The list is printed in Rastall 1968, vol. 2, 53–8, and (with some errors and omissions) in Bullock-Davies 1978, 1–6. See especially Bullock-Davies 1986, 212. It is diicult to know how to translate the equivalent terms ‘vijler’ (French) and ‘vidulator’ (Latin). ‘Gigour’ or ‘gigator’ presumably refers to a player of the smallest iddle, used for dance music, which implies that Richard played the larger iddle (‘vielle’) or an instrument of the viol type. Oxford Names Companion, s.v. ‘Ive’. I am indebted to Alice Margerum for bringing this document to my attention, and to Jane Oakshott for her advice on the text and translation. Information kindly supplied by Dr Margerum. For performance practices that can be inferred from this evidence see Rastall 1974. At the symposium in the British Museum, Mark Rimple demonstrated the possible playing styles of the citole; and in the concert on the evening of 5 November, in the church of St Bartholomew the Great, Smithield, Dr Rimple and Mary Springfels (together with Shira Kammen) demonstrated these even more clearly. For example, the ive harpers who performed for Edward I during a journey in 32 Ed I (on 6 March 1304) perhaps did not play only solos: see Rastall 1968, vol. 2, 32 and 41. See Ibid., 183–5, and Rastall 1974 (2009), passim, especially 68–9. ‘Viol’ and ‘violist’ in these works should be read as ‘iddle’ and ‘iddler’. Hence my research started in that period. Such earlier records as I have searched include no citolers, but my examination was far from comprehensive. I am grateful to Dr Margerum for allowing me to use this information in advance of her doctoral submission. See Margerum 2010, passim. Chapter 5 Heroes and Villains The Medieval Guitarist and Modern Parallels Carey Fleiner Introduction In the Middle Ages, string players (‘citharists’) and popular musicians were scorned by both secular and religious authorities. It was, however, a case of ‘can’t live with them, can’t live without them’, especially in the late Middle Ages, when musicians were required to play the new form of music called polyphony and to perform at church feasts and secular court occasions. Despite this need, evidence from contemporary literature and art indicates that much suspicion was cast on the professional musician. This questionable reputation has antecedents back to antiquity in the works of Pythagoras, Plato and Aristotle. The opinions of musicians continued into the Middle Ages with Boethius and his inluential 6th-century textbook on music, De institutione musica. Medieval complaints about the ubiquity and inappropriateness of ‘exciting and licentious music’1 (Pl. 1) has continued in almost the same form into modern times, especially when one compares the performance, inluence and behaviour of these medieval string players with their 20th-century rock and roll counterparts. This chapter will analyse the causes for the medieval criticism of string players, demonstrate how this attitude came about and draw parallels with the enduring negative opinion of rock musicians in modern times. There are numerous similar reasons for this shared judgement despite the diferences and unique character of each period: censure boils down to a sense of a loss of control by authority and a disdain for vulgar entertainment from the intelligentsia. The reputation of stringed instrument players in the popular culture of western Europe between 1200 and 1400 is the central focus of this chapter. This time period was the heyday of many stringed instruments such as the citole, vielle, rebec and gittern, the lowering of Gothic art and manuscript illumination and the beginnings of the complexities of the ars nova movement in music.2 These two centuries were also the golden age of the troubadour and jongleur, itinerant singer-storytellers, courtly love poems and tales and bawdy vernacular poetry. The wandering musician was to be found at numerous locations and events, performing at church rituals and court feasts and haunting the taverns and brothels. The reputation of the citoler and contemporary musicians in secular society will be discussed, as will the antecedents of this reputation from antiquity. In the Middle Ages, Christianity transformed pagan intellectual criticism of popular music into religious allegory. This chapter will also address how authorities blamed the musician for the physical and moral degradation of their audience, and how their music led to the corruption of God’s image on earth. Where relevant, parallels will be identiied between medieval and modern disdain for the popular musician and music. ‘Bits and pieces’: terminology, time frame and texts3 A clariication of terms will aid this analysis of the medieval musician. Musical terms, instrument names and musicians are frequently interchanged in contemporary sources; ‘gittern’ and ‘citole players’ are referred to speciically throughout, but the musicians’ reputation is addressed in general as so few players are speciically identiied by name and occupation in the source material.4 I will also speak of Heroes and Villains | 51 being an exception), or even knew what contemporary instruments may have looked like. Similar caveats are found in artwork depicting musicians and instruments. Nevertheless, plucked instruments such as the citole and the gittern appeared frequently in documents and artwork by the 13th century, 11 and the instruments seem to have been important in contributing to contemporary, fashionable polyphonic music as both rhythmic and sometimes melodic instruments. ‘My bad reputation’: the citole in secular society Plate 1 ‘The Lovers’ Dance’, France, irst half of the 14th century (note musicians in the margin outside the scene). British Library, Royal 20 A XVII f.9 (© The British Library Board) musicians in the broadest terms: minstrel, histriones, jongleur and troubadour were distinct professions, had speciic social rank and formed a hierarchy among performers,5 but there was no specialization of talent among the entertainers in the late Middle Ages.6 A troubadour, at the top of the hierarchy, for example, might sing, compose and dance,7 while a jongleur, at the lowest level, might play an instrument, sing, tumble, dance, practise tricks and tell jokes as a more general entertainer. These generalities are accounted for through the nature of the sources; it was not uncommon for medieval authors to use archaic terms when referring to contemporary instruments. For example, the word cithara, an ancient Greek instrument, was obsolete by Late Antiquity;8 by the time of Cassidorus (c. 485–c. 585), cithara could mean any number of strummed or plucked stringed instruments, and by the 8th century citharizare meant to play many kinds of stringed instrument.9 Written sources detailing the musician’s reputation include folktales and fabliaux in addition to moralising and scientiic texts on music by a variety of authors from churchmen to university intellectuals. In these texts depictions of musicians may be exaggerated for comic efect, to illustrate moral decay or to relect the authors’ own attitudes concerning the social status of musicians. Indeed, the following extract from a fabliau provides this image: He often didn’t own a shoe Although he dearly loved his pants And the rags he wore, and if perchance He had the fortune to possess A pair of shoes, though hobnailless And full of holes as they could be, He gloriied in them shamelessly And thought himself quite recherchi. (St Pierre et le jongleur, ll. 14–21)10 Finally, many writers were not musicians or not familiar with the composition of music and musical styles (Chaucer 52 | The British Museum Citole The string player was widespread across western Europe by the late Middle Ages. Despite their popularity, these musicians were associated with anti-social behaviour.12 Southworth notes, ‘to his contemporaries the minstrel was altogether beyond the pale of social acceptance, worse of than a serf, for at least a serf was the lowest rung on the ladder’.13 Part of this reputation was because citoles and gitterns were considered lower class instruments. The citole, for example, was associated with peasants14 as late as the 16th century, despite its obsolescence.15 The gittern was associated with tavern culture,16 its inhabitants and their repertoire of bawdy songs; Wright provides examples from the 14th century of patrons performing lusty chansons on the guitar while at the tavern.17 Contemporary court records recount anti-social behaviour involving gittern and citole players, which ‘causes no surprise when one considers the association of the gittern with activities which must have been frowned upon by respectable citizens’,18 and that musicians were frequently associated with violence and theft. Wright notes that there were several law cases in which gittern players were involved in drunken breaches of the peace (Orléans 1362 and Limoges 1379).19 Elsewhere, Guillemin Geroul, hanged in 1392 for stealing pewter dishes, was identiied in court records as a gittern player. Citola, a minstrel from Spain, was so ill behaved that King Alfonso the Wise (r. 1252–84) himself rebuked the man in verse.20 Even performances could be fraught with peril: Perrin Rouet smashed another man over the head so hard with his gittern that the instrument split in half;21 a citoler, Lorenzo of Portugal, who performed at the court of Alfonso the Wise appeared in a legal case as a defendant against a knight who had broken Lorenzo’s own citole over the musician’s head.22 Parallels could be drawn to a more recent incident in 2006 in which the Rolling Stones’ guitarist Keith Richards, faced with a fan lunging at him on stage, clobbered the fan with his guitar and then calmly resumed playing.23 A minority of disruptive characters does not necessarily represent the whole, although it could cause an impression of the whole. Not every musician was a criminal, and those musicians with the patronage of the aristocracy maintained a high reputation and were much in demand.24 For example, trouveres and troubadours were well respected because of the complexity of their verses and because they were part of the court circle. Indeed, the economic position of professional musicians varied. For example, Peters’ study of late 13th-century Montpellier tax records related to musicians indicates that there was some diversity in the status and income of musicians, ranging from itinerant outcasts to wealthy professionals enjoying aristocratic patronage.25 Nevertheless the wandering musician was regarded as someone outside of the social order26 when other itinerant workers were not. These workers and craftsmen were called the vont et vient, that is ‘coming and going’, a class of servants necessary for one-of occasions at court, such as weddings and feasts.27 Musicians in this class of servants were contracted on a short-term basis, and like their peers, travelled to follow employment.28 Unlike other servants, musicians, even those who enjoyed patronage, were seen as vagrants who had no ‘useful’ place in society and practised poor self-control and even less iscal sense. Jongleurs, for example, were viewed as careless and irresponsible with their money. The jongleur in St Pierre et le jongleur, for instance, not only pawns and loses his vielle while gambling, but ‘so loved the tavern and the dice, he’d blown his pittance in a trice’.29 Indeed, according to Harrison, the medieval version of the expression ‘easy come, easy go’ was ‘minstrel’s money’.30 Additionally, being itinerant also meant entertainers frequently did not pay taxes and were exempt from military service.31 They lived and worked outside of the institutions of society, its obligations and its protection.32 As a consequence, it was assumed that they were outside the social and moral codes of society33 – hence their reputation for amoral and mischievous behaviour.34 Furthermore, the company the musicians kept, the lowest orders of society, also enhanced their reputation as rogues rather than respectable servants. An illustration from the Queen Mary Psalter (Royal 14 E III f. 89) (Pl. 2) shows the stark diference between the status of a musician and that of a household servant: here King Arthur sits at a banquet, surrounded by his fellows, the scene enclosed by borders which represent the walls of the hall and royal residence. A servant kneels before the table, ofering a plate or a bowl; while in a subservient position, he is clearly included in the enclosed banquet hall. The musician, a vielle player, however, stands precariously on a branch which extends outside of the walls of the hall and palace, putting him well into the margin; he is connected to the scene but clearly outside of it. The placement and use of space on a folio leaf reveals much about the medieval (intellectual) view of society and the desire to maintain hierarchy. Safe places in medieval society had deined borders: cities, churches, monasteries or castles were bound by walls clearly to delineate order from wilderness, community from the outside. It is interesting that even though it is not a hard and fast rule, many illuminated manuscripts placed popular musicians in the margins of illustrations. Respectable musicians, on the other hand, including angels, monks and King David, appear inside borders, margins and the walls of rooms and houses. Monks singing Psalms frequently appear not only inside such distinct boundaries on the page, but often they are given an added layer of safety by being enclosed inside illustrated capitals. For example, manuscripts Arundel MS 83, f. 63v (Pl. 3) and Harley MS 2888, f. 98v both depict singing monks inside of a capital ‘C’. At the bottom of the Arundel leaf, two grotesques caper, one holding a citole and the other a psaltery. This is not a whimsical placement; the text Plate 2 Arthur and his retinue enjoy a banquet; the musician stands precariously balanced on a branch connected to but outside of the scene. Queen Mary Psalter, France, c. 1300–15. British Library, Royal 14 E III f. 89 (© The British Library Board) represents orderly space, whereas the margins and their inhabitants exist on the edges of the world of the page, just as real-life marginals existed on the edge of ordered society. ‘Heroes and villains’: the musician in song and story The repertoire of the musician may have compounded his marginal and disreputable status: not only did he associate with rogues, but he had to survive on wit and charm as he literally sang for his supper, making believable the fantastic, singing obscene songs and telling bawdy stories. Anyone who could speak so knowledgeably of the worst of society surely must be intimate with it! Associating the musician with the content of his songs persists in the modern era of popular music as well. For example, during the Parents Music Resource Center’s hearings in 1985,35 the then United States Senator Al Gore expressed disbelief that Dee Snider, front man of the rock group Twisted Sister, could possibly be a Christian when the group sang songs that ‘gloriied violence’ and allegedly degraded women.36 Heroes and Villains | 53 Plate 3 Monks sing a motet, not the Psalm actually written on the page; they are safe within their capital ‘C’ while grotesques accompany them from the margins. British Library, Arundel 83 f. 63v, detail, c. 1310–20 (© The British Library Board) Many medieval musicians recited fabliaux, poems illed with foul language and obscene situations; sometimes the title alone is enough, for example, Maurice de Guérin’s ‘The knight who made cunts talk’.37 These stories tell rude tales of peasants and rogues who tricked merchants and impoverished nobility. The audience for fabliaux were aristocrats, so the situations were for comic efect, relecting the nobility’s perception of the lower classes and presenting them in a negative light. Chaucer’s fabliaux, showcased in The Canterbury Tales, are a rich source. Chaucer seems to have been familiar with complex forms of French music, the polyphony of the ars nova and composer Guillaume de Machaut’s innovative use of hockets, short little phrases that can be sung against other voices to produce complex lines of music; a good modern analogy would be Brian Wilson’s vocal arrangements for the Beach Boys, especially in his Pet Sounds/SMiLe period in the mid-1960s. Chaucer personally appeared to have preferred French music to the more conservative English styles of the day.38 His appreciation of this sophisticated music, however, does not mean he avoided lampooning it; he used his knowledge of polyphonic structure to set the comic and vulgar mood of a number of his stories and characterizations. In the Reeve’s Tale, polyphonic singing becomes a metaphor for sexual perversion and vulgarity, as Chaucer compares the sighing, snoring and farting of the sleeping family to a polyphonic hymn (RT 4163–7; 4170–2).39 In the Pardoner’s Tale, the thieves frequent brothels, betting shops and taverns (PT 463–71), where the music played includes ‘harpes, lutes and gyternes’ (PT 466), the sort of combo found playing the French-style polyphonic music of which Chaucer was fond – ballads, roundels and virelais.40 The tavern is the ‘develes temple’ (PT 470) and illed with gamblers, drunks, prostitutes, gluttons and perjurers. In The Miller’s Tale, two wanderers bring chaos to the life of the miller: Nicholas, an amorous student who ‘pleyeth faste, and maketh melodie’ on the psaltery (MT 3306) and 54 | The British Museum Citole Absalon, who ‘wel koude…pleye on a giterne, frequents in al the toun [the] brewhous [and] taverne’ (MT 3334). Not only does smooth and sneaky Nicholas cuckold his landlord John by bedding his beautiful young wife, but he tricks and humiliates Absalon (who also desires the wife). In the uninished Cook’s Tale, Perkyn, a scrufy, irresponsible shop apprentice and would-be thief, has a whore for a wife. He spends his time dancing and singing at weddings, gambling at the tavern, drinking himself silly and playing the giterne and rebec. Chaucer explains that because Perkin is of such low rank and poor habitude, his need to be a reveller prevents him from being a man of honest reputation: Revel and trouthe, as in a lowe degree, They been ful wrother al day, as men may see. (CT 4397–8) Such tales reinforce the stereotype that those who play stringed instruments bring chaos to the orderly household and cannot be trusted despite initial impressions of faith and goodness. Finally, on a diferent note, in The Knight’s Tale, Chaucer names speciically a citole as the instrument of Venus, the goddess of love, lust and desire (KT 1959). Chaucer makes an interesting choice here as he based Venus on a poem by Berchorius. In Berchorius’s original, Venus holds her usual accessories of a comb and a clam shell, the latter a symbol of both her birth from the sea as well as a representation of female genitalia. Berchorius describes the shell in musical terms to make an association between music and lust, but Chaucer is more explicit by giving Venus the actual instrument.41 ‘Good vibrations’: the ancient antecedents of cosmic harmony The reputation of the string player (and instrumentalist in general) as corrupt and a corruptive inluence did not appear suddenly in the Middle Ages, but inherited the intellectual legacy of philosophical texts dating back to Greek antiquity. These works and social attitudes were transmitted to and adapted in the Middle Ages by Christian intellectuals writing on both the structure of music and its spiritual purpose. Plato (c. 427–c. 347 bc) and Aristotle (384–322 bc), for example, were more interested in the science of music than the performer’s art. As educated men, they wrote on the construction of music, its intervals and harmonics and its role in maintaining cosmic harmony. Colouring their commentary was their own disdain regarding professional musicians and their audiences. These philosophers regarded themselves as socially superior to professional musicians because, as educated men, only they understood the theory, complexity and symbolism behind the music. Professional musicians came from the lower classes and were frequently slaves; intellectuals were regarded as higher class and socially superior. Aristotle thus noted that gentlemen played instruments only when intoxicated or as a joke (Politics 1339a–4161d).42 This intellectual contempt of common entertainment persisted into the Middle Ages, although reinterpreted in religious terms. In modern times, it survives among those who attribute a greater intellectual merit to classical over popular music.43 Both Plato and Aristotle felt that common, or popular, music had negative efects; the uneducated man gravitates towards base things and the professional musician becomes a source of danger to this vulgar audience. In the Protogoras (347 c–d)44 Plato warned that musicians who cater to their unlearned audience’s approval must cease this practice, otherwise chaos will ensue as the unlearned audiences will become so uncontrollable when they listen to such music (namely dithyrambs, associated with the Dionysian revelries) that oicials must be brought in to beat them with rods to restore order (Laws 700a–701c).45 Aristotle similarly criticized popular music and its performers. While popular music as entertainment had its place, he argued, professional musicians frequently focused too much simply on pleasing their audiences (comprised, according to Aristotle, of slaves, children and ‘even some animals’). Consequently, he believed that musicians forgot the true purpose of education, that is, intellectual self-improvement, and instead they gravitated towards vulgar entertainment, and the cycle of ignorance and cheap thrills continues (The Politics).46 Boethius (ad 480–c. 524) transferred this ancient attitude to both the relationship between cosmic harmony and human behaviour and towards popular musicians mainly through his inluential work, De institutione musica (The Principles of Music). This work was widely copied and became the textbook on musical study throughout most of the Middle Ages. Boethius, termed the ‘last great Roman scholar’, wrote extensively about music, and was especially inluenced by Pythagoras and Plato on the efects of music on the harmony of the universe47 and the relationship between music and its ability to afect the character of a person. In line with the classical theorists, Boethius did not perceive musical performance to be a valid skill, but instead discussed the scientiic and theoretical principles of music as an inextricable part of philosophy and the seven liberal arts. Boethius took Plato’s arguments about universal harmony and positive vibrations one step further and added the dimension that music was vital in blending the incorporeal soul with the physical body.48 Music acted as a catalyst for human behaviour not only physically, but also morally and ethically. Boethius describes three kinds of musicians: those who compose songs; those who critique songs (poetry); and those who play instruments. The irst two are praiseworthy, for they require intelligence and education, and scholars who understood the theory and science behind the music were superior to the ordinary peasant or performer.49 Instrumentalists were the lowest of the three, and Boethius cites cithara players speciically. Citharists devoted their time to showing of their skills on the instruments only to entertain; they are mere slaves to their instruments because performance requires no reason or thought (De institutione musica 1.34.224). This attitude would persist as instruments were seen simply as a means of accompaniment, and instrumentalists were deemed to have no talent and were not necessary to music. Philo, for example, disliked the use of instruments in the liturgy, and wrote tracts against the corruptive inluence of worldly music.50 St Basil argued that instrumental skills were a ‘useless art’.51 John Chrysostom, who was happy to have peasants singing the Psalms,52 had no use for instruments at other religious occasions: weddings, he wrote, were divine events, ruined utterly by music at the reception, which, along with drunkenness and revelry, introduced ‘all the Devil’s great heap of garbage’ (Pl. 4).53 Despite his complaints against instrumentalists and common music, Boethius – like many ancient, medieval and modern critics of popular music – admitted a strong love for the physical sound of music (Consolation IV 6.6).54 Aristotle felt the same, and St Augustine was a rare early medieval champion of beautiful music for pleasure’s sake: he noted that his passion for music was so great, he ‘wavered between the danger that lies in gratifying the senses’ and the spiritual beneits that music could lend to spiritual contemplation (Confessions 10.33.50). In modern times, even the then Vice President of the United States, Spiro Agnew, who hated rock and roll music, had to admit that the Beatles’ song ‘With a little help from my friends’, which he had banned in the United States in 1970 for its alleged drug references ‘was a hell of a catchy tune’.55 ‘Here comes your 19th nervous breakdown’: the emotional excitement of polyphony Classical and medieval censure was not against music or even popular musicians, but against the wrong kind of music. Music in the Middle Ages played an important role in university curriculum, as well as being a vital component of allegorical lessons on the connection between mankind and God, in addition to the order and harmony of the earthly realm and the divine. A number of early Church writers acknowledged that music had positive spiritual beneits. For example, Basil of Caesarea wrote that singing the Psalms in unison created a bond in the community, calmed the soul and brought both the singer and listener closer to the Divine Message (Basil of Caesarea, Exegetic Homilies).56 John Chrysostom also agreed Heroes and Villains | 55 Polyphonic works were a great danger to the soul; complex harmonies distracted listeners from the divine purpose of spiritual music and disrupted the harmony between God’s divine sphere and the human earthly realm. It also did not help that the most fashionable form of polyphony was the motet, a multi-lined song heard in both the church and in the tavern. Motets were all the rage from the 13th century onwards, and, to the horror of churchmen, they distinctively combined melodic lines from hymns and popular songs in the same arrangement. For example, one popular 14thcentury motet had the sacred narrative of the Massacre of the Innocents as its top line of melody, with a prostitute’s call on the bottom.64 One critic of polyphonic church music was the 12thcentury English canonist John of Salisbury.65 Writing in his Policraticus (1159), John argued that music in general sullied the Divine Service, but polyphony was the worst of all. The problem for John was the complexity of the music compared to the simplicity of plainsong. Polyphony has, among its characteristics, the use of hockets. Contemporaries criticized hockets for being too fast and exciting, inciting too much passion and emotion: for example, the 13th-century theorist Johannes de Grocheio describes how: A hocket is a cut-up song, composed of two or more voices. This kind of song is pleasing to the hot-tempered and to young men because of its mobility and speed…like seeks out like, and is delighted by it.66 Plate 4 ‘Diabolic temptations’, demons play music around guests at a feast. British Library, Royal 19 C I f. 204v, detail, southern France, early 14th century (© The British Library Board) that the Psalms were uplifting; even illiterate churchgoers could sing them, and thus learn the message of the liturgy.57 There were dangers, however; St Augustine noted that his passion for music was so great that he ‘wavered between the danger that lies in gratifying the senses’ and the spiritual beneits that music brings (Confessions 10.33.49).58 Augustine’s warning is a key point for the intellectuals of the Church. If spiritually strong intellectuals were threatened by the physical allure of popular music ( John of Salisbury Policraticus Book 1.6.43),59 how could the rest of society be safe? Basil of Caesarea noted that while music could restore people from madness, ‘passions sprung of lack of breeding and baseness are naturally engendered by licentious songs’, which, unfortunately were ‘now [i.e. the 4th century] in vogue’.60 Bernard of Chartres (l. 1114–19) agreed with Augustine that harmonious music could reform and uplift the spirit, but music must also positively afect ‘the composition of [man’s] manners’.61 Music had to be kept simple. The ‘wrong kind’ of music was complex, and in the late Middle Ages that was polyphony. Polyphony reached its heights with Guillaume de Machaut and his admirers in the 14th century. Machaut’s music featured multi-part harmonies, syncopation and rhythmic experimentation, constituting exciting new forms of music.62 Machaut’s followers went even further, writing increasingly extravagantly arranged songs. Contemporary criticism of the fatuous extremes of these imitators is similar to criticism meted out to the empty complexity practised by art and progressive rock bands such as The Moody Blues.63 56 | The British Museum Citole John of Salisbury was educated at Chartres and therefore may come across as another ‘blue-stocking’ lamenting on the state of contemporary music, but despite the extravagance of polyphony, he described how it rendered men senseless: When this type of music is carried to the extreme it is more likely to stir lascivious sensations in the loins than devotion in the heart’ (Policraticus 1.6.42).67 Nevertheless: [If it] is kept within reasonable limits it frees the mind from care, banishes worry about things temporal, and by imparting joy and peace and by inspiring a deep love for God draws souls to association with the angels (Policraticus Book 1.6.42).68 While John criticized speciically the tendency for Church music to be overtaken by polyphonic gymnastics, he was by no means a prude when it came to common music or popular entertainments. He noted in the Policraticus that there was nothing amiss with an intellectual enjoying vulgar comedies now and then (mentioning Plautus, Menander and ‘our own favourite Terence’ [Policraticus 1.7.46).69 Splashes of obscenity and blasphemy were part of medieval entertainments at all social levels and not necessarily a guilty pleasure conined to the metaphoric ivory tower.70 John related how such silliness relieved tension and was doubly amusing when the vulgar comedian himself was humiliated and thus put in his place, his rude behaviour punished and his magic tricks exposed (Policraticus Book 1.8.48).71 However, John censured excess of the vulgar, which would include excessive polyphony. John had a classical education, and his views had very much the character of both Roman and early Church opinion on Roman/ Christian behaviour. John and his peers were outspoken against any music with parallels to pagan practices and rituals, and complained that blatant obscenity appeared to be a reversion to pagan practices.72 Polyphonists distracted ‘spellbound little followers’ with their verbal gymnastics.73 John went on to analyse how the singers ran up and down the scale, itted together their rifs and melodic runs to the point where ‘simple souls’ were ‘astound[ed], enervate[d] and dwarf[ed] by these wanton tones and the listener forgets his or her spiritual purpose’ (Policraticus Book 1.6.42).74 ‘Whole lotta shakin’ goin’ on’: moral decay, violence – and dancing To summarize, the musician in the medieval era had a bad reputation as a rogue who played music which corrupted his audience. Such corruption manifested itself in several ways: dancing, violence and a breakdown of society. These social consequences are probably the irmest common ground between medieval and modern critics of popular music. Firstly, not only did the new, exciting music render men senseless and distract them from the spiritual purpose of music, it also caused physical corruption through dancing. The musician himself danced and capered as he performed; the small instruments made that easy enough, as myriad illustrations show. Aside from a vulgar physical display, however, dancing had severe moral consequences. Capriciously jumping about and gyrating twisted the body into grotesque shapes and deiled the human form which was created in the image of God. As Christians believed that the human body was created in the perfect image of God, theologians argued that Christians must strive to maintain its beauty and appear sober, devout, placid and calm. To be grotesque, ape-like or twisted deiled the image of God through ‘wantonness and obscenity of [the body]’. 75 Indeed, the medieval monster frequently represented the deformed soul,76 and marginalia in illuminated manuscripts show hybrids and grotesques playing music. Carvings on and in churches also depict dancing, music playing and base games, and remind observers that they need to remain ixed and upright, irm and tall in their commitment to God. They were not to become g yrovag (gyrators), or historiones (storytellers) or gesticulators (those who acted using mime or pantomimic gestures), anyone who was an exhibitionist or entertainer, linging his body about and inciting others to do the same.77 Dancing ofended the intelligentsia’s notion of acceptable behaviour. For example, Ruinus (d. c. 1192) complained that the historiones would deform and contort their bodies for the sake of storytelling; he contrasted the obscene gesticulations of storytellers with the harmonious movement of the ordered body.78 Likewise the 12th-century canonist Peter the Chanter (d. 1197) complained that the historiones made their living of wantonness and obscenities of the body and that their gyrations deiled the image of God. Finally, Bernard of Clairvaux (d. 1153) complained that dancers and acrobats deformed their bodies with indecent gestures in the name of entertainment. Much censure appears in medieval texts against musicians for inciting corporeal deformity because their music stirred up frenzied emotions, leading to dancing. Dancing exacerbated these emotions, leading to lust, violence and dereliction of civic duty. Modern popular music criticism echoes this sentiment from the censorship of Elvis Presley swinging his hips on US television in 1956,79 to the initial reaction to ‘The Twist’80 as well as the antics of the Rolling Stones, Marilyn Manson and rap artists. Complaints against rock and roll mirror medieval fears of societal reversion to a more primitive time – not paganism, as feared by John of Salisbury, but a reversion to primitive ‘tribal’ emotions. This element of racism that afected the development of American popular music was not evident in its medieval counterpart.81 Rock and roll’s detractors were often white authority igures who feared that the music of black artists would regress their children to an ‘uncivilised’ condition characterized by uncontrollable lust, drunkenness and violence. Social chaos is thus the second physical manifestation of popular music, with both medieval and modern authorities worried about the violence that would overtake lustful, excited dancers. For example, in 13th-century Montpellier, there were ordinances against having musicians perform at weddings because of the ensuing disorder caused by drunken wedding guests.82 Another law was passed at Montpellier in 1252 that limited the participation of musicians in charivari, a popular pre-wedding ritual in which friends and foes congregated outside the bride-to-be or newlyweds’ house to perform a sort of ritual ‘sneering’.83 These activities would degenerate from dancing, drinking and wearing costumes to physical altercations and acts of vengeance. Similarly, in the rock and roll era, especially in the ‘breakout’ year of 1955 when the ilm The Blackboard Jungle was released, police broke up numerous rock and roll concerts when authorities mistook dancing for ighting.84 Adults believed that rock and roll incited violence even in otherwise placid teens.85 This fear led a 1958 Senate Committee to investigate the links between rock and roll and juvenile delinquency.86 As late as 1984, the Dade Christian School (Miami, Florida) forbade its students to attend a Jackson Brothers concert out of concern that the music would lead to irresponsible behaviour and that the students would participate in ‘lewd dancing’.87 The third shared view of popular music in both eras was that it resulted in a dissolute life and neglect of civic responsibility (Pl. 5). A medieval example is found in Chaucer’s Prologue, where the Squire shows an interest in his appearance and music in contrast with his more solemn, dutiful father, the Knight. Similarly, rock and roll critics argued that teenagers were led astray from their civil and religious duties by the siren call of pop music. For example, the American ‘payola’ hearings of 1960 levelled charges against radio DJs that they forced rock and roll music on teenagers to weaken their will; there were also the various complaints in the US that the Beatles posed a Communist threat.88 The ultra right-wing, conservative Christian group, the John Birch Society, decried the Beatles’ album Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band as not only the work of the Communists, but also a ine example that the pop music industry understood ‘the principles of brainwashing’89 and planned to make American youths mentally unstable and helpless against the inevitable Russian invasion. (The Soviets Heroes and Villains | 57 Plate 5 ‘Luxury’, as represented by a woman dancing to music, distracts knights from their martial obligations, late 10th century. British Library, Add. 24199 f. 18 (© The British Library Board) countered by claiming the Beatles were a capitalist plot).90 The war in Vietnam led to a close examination of potentially subversive performers as well; Phil Ochs’s FBI dossier ile, kept between 1963 and 1976, was eventually more than 400 pages long.91 Another source of social disorder in modern times was drug use, and many authorities believed that popular music would turn the United States into a nation of ‘drugged-out’ youths. Spiro Agnew headed a committee from 1970 speciically to root out songs intended to recruit drug users, irmly believing that rock and roll was a means of destroying ‘our national youth’.92 Conclusion A change in attitude from authorities and intellectuals towards the performer and his music began when the names of composers appeared in the historical record of the 12th century; Leonin, Perotin and other masters from the so-called Anonymous IV manuscript identiied the earlier composers of polyphony (as this manuscript is the lecture notes of a student, its very existence indicates that by this time polyphony was well enough established to warrant study at the University of Paris). When Johannes de Grocheio (c. 1300) wrote his groundbreaking music-theory treatise, he challenged almost completely 1,000 years’ worth of musical interpretation and musical composition. De Grocheio dealt only with instrumental music and argued that the realistic aspect of music was not that the angels performed it, but that musicians should work hard to perfect their craft. Musicians, he argued, were not philosophers, but craftsmen like any other artist. He also emphasized the importance of stringed instruments especially as, in his opinion, good string players could make use of all of the vocal forms of music, the cantus, chanson and so forth.93 From this period onwards, intellectual appreciation of music began to focus on the complexity of composition and skilful playing, as the competition among Renaissance princes as patrons of the arts readily demonstrates. Nevertheless, the descendants of the citole family – the cittern and simpliied guitar (six strings instead of twelve or more courses) remained associated with the lower orders and ‘common folk’ – whether cittern players found in 17thcentury barbershops, Black Americans singing the blues in 58 | The British Museum Citole the Mississippi Delta or rock and roll stars from the 1950s through to the 21st century. Much of the criticism seems to be simply the persistence of social snobbery: the guitar is viewed as an easy instrument for an amateur to learn, and composers and trained musicians will sometimes look down on it for being a rural folk instrument and not an orchestral instrument such as the violin or piano. Just as medieval churchmen and civic leaders criticized popular music as vulgar, dangerous and demoralising, so, too, their modern counterparts have regarded modern rock and roll musicians as terrible role models, and their music as subversive, obscene or just plain noise. There are many similarities between the eras: drunken behaviour and tavern-hopping in the Middle Ages became in the modern era a fear of rock music promoting drug use. Concerns that complex and exciting polyphony and subsequent dancing would lead to a reversion to barbaric, pagan practices parallels the racist view that rhythm and blues music would cause white middle class children to practise ‘primitive’ African rituals and revert to ‘uncivilised’ tribal behaviour. On a more positive note, there is a current trend for academics to study and promote rock and roll and its antecedents as a legitimate branch of ethnomusicology. This has some parallel in the ancient world, as many classical philosophers and churchmen stated that music, even popular music, could be enjoyed, even at a physical level, provided it was kept simple and that the listener did not become carried away by sensation. Probably the only real diference unique to the modern era would be ampliication; the medieval authority had to contend with violence, drunkenness, promiscuity and blasphemy, but they did not have to endure recordings of such music easily played back on state-of-the-art sound systems equipped with teeth-rattling subwoofer bass speakers. There still remains, of course, much criticism of each new pop act and style that comes along – from the same sorts of civic and church authorities and on the same sorts of issues. Indeed, for the last 2,500 years, there have been the same complaints about ‘this new licentious music’ repeatedly – and yet popular music persists, probably for the same reasons – it is new, exciting and a challenge to the status quo. The string player, whether he plucks a cithara or thrashes on a Gibson Flying V, continues to be a hero to his fans and a villain to the intellectuals, churchmen and parents of children everywhere. Acknowledgements Many thanks to James Robinson, Burrell Collection, Glasgow, and Naomi Speakman, The British Museum, for their help and assistance and for letting me participate in this conference programme at such short notice; Mark Amsler, Professor of English at the University of Auckland, for his invaluable suggestions which helped to kick-start my research; Steven Sidebotham, Professor of History at the University of Delaware, for the loan of his house and dog Kailash whilst I wrote the original drafts of this paper; Michael Rosenberg, Professor of Anthropology at the University of Delaware for reading through rough drafts; Rich Campbell, University of Delaware Library, for his patience and help with the microilm machines; the very helpful librarians and staf at the British Library’s imaging services; Mr David Holley of the EMI Archive Trust; Ms Kate Calloway, EMI Photo Archive; the warder staf at the British Museum for all of their suggestions and support over the years; my colleagues at the University of Winchester who have supported my research on popular music; Mr Keith Middleton of Epsom, Surrey, without whom I would not have been in a position to give this paper; inally to Mr Darren Holdstock of Titchield, Hampshire, for his time, patience and gargoyles. 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 Notes 1 Basil of Caesarea, Letters, cited in Weiss and Taruskin 1984, 27. 2 Wright 1977, 254. 3 The subheadings throughout the text reference modern popular songs; they are, with the performer primarily associated with them, The Dave Clark 5’s ‘Bits and Pieces’, Joan Jett’s ‘Bad Reputation’, The Beach Boy’s ‘Heroes and Villains’ and ‘Good Vibrations’, The Rolling Stones’ ‘19th Nervous Breakdown’ and Jerry Lee Lewis’s, ‘Whole Lotta Shakin’ Going On’. 4 On the problems of vocabulary in sources, see, e.g. Wright 1977, Remnant and Marks 1980 and Fleiner 2005. See also Margerum, this volume. 5 See Salmen 1983, 12–13 on the complexity of this categorization. See also Harrison 1974 (30–5) on classiication and description of the diferent types of medieval musicians. 6 Southworth 1989, 14. 7 Ibid., 3. 8 Heilbronn 1983, 55–6. 9 Ibid., 56. 10 Quoted in Harrison 1974, 34. 11 Remnant and Marks 1980, 85; for carvings and manuscripts which depict gitterns/citoles, see Remnant 1965. Citole iconography includes embroidery, stained glass, brasses and roof bosses (Remnant and Marks 1980, 85). 12 Pestell 1987, 64–6. 13 Southworth 1989, 4–5. 14 Wright 1977, 27. 15 Ibid., 32. 16 Ibid., 14. Wright notes that the association of taverns and guitar playing may be specious, because taverne and giterne are a rhyming pair in Middle English. He counters that Chaucer maintained the association in the Cook’s Tale, but without the rhyme (describing Perkyn, who loved the tavern, gambling and playing the gittern and rebec) (Wright 1977, 15). The association can also be found unrhymed in the old French fabliau St Pierre et le jongleur. 17 Ibid., 15. 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 Ibid. Ibid., 15. Ibid. 26. Ibid. Ibid. Video evidence for Richards’s actions during a performance of ‘Satisfaction’ can be found on youtube (https://www.youtube. com/watch?v=D7g3s44FZlY, accessed 24 July 2014). Neither he nor lead singer Mick Jagger miss a beat. A brief rundown of Richards’s rock and roll lifestyle, including a reference to the guitar-clobbering incident, is discussed in Abbot 2011. Final edits to this essay were made, coincidentally, on Mick Jagger’s 71st birthday. See Southworth 1989 (58f ) on royal patronage from Henry III to Edward II; Salmen 1983 (22) on the need for travelling musicians despite disdain for their profession. Peters 2000, 213. Salmen 1983, 8. Southworth 1989, 64. Ibid., 134. St Pierre et le jongleur, ll. 8–9, 27–8; Harrison 1974, 34. Harrison 1974, 32. Salmen 1983, 22. Ibid., 25. Ibid. See Salmen 1983, 26, n.50, on the study of the ‘Mimetic Taboo’ and the association between the assumed amorality of the musician and the subsequent inluence on his audience. Alarmed by the lyrics of the music their children were listening to, a group of Senators’ wives and Congressmen’s wives formed the Parents Music Resource Center (PMRC). Their plan was to create a means to alert parents and to protect children from the bad inluence of heavy metal and rock music lyrics. The hearings in 1985 were their efort to lobby for warning labels on record albums to alert buyers of explicit lyrics (original warnings would include references to violence, sex, drug use, blasphemy and the occult). On the success and consequences of these hearings, see Nuzum 2001, 13–43. Ibid., 33. Harrison 1974, 219–55. Broenig 1990, 253. Holsinger 2001, 184–5. All citations and line numbers referencing the Chaucer texts are from the Riverside Chaucer (Chaucer 1987). Broenig 1990, 256. For a comparison of Berchorius’s and Chaucer’s versions of the poem, see Steadman 1959, 60–4; on an analysis of Chaucer’s substitution of the shell for citole (and rebuttal to Steadman), see Quinn 1963, 479. See Chadwick 1967, 86. Class distinction between music that is ‘upper class’ and therefore of artistic and culture merit versus popular music, which is simply vulgar entertainment is discussed in recent scholarship on both ancient and modern musicians. For a look at Hellenic elitism, see Power 2010, 82–9. The topic appears more frequently in social and cultural studies of modern pop music; see Frith et al. 2013, Partridge 2014 and Roberts 2014. More work needs to be done to bridge the gap between the ancient and medieval eras with the modern. Weiss and Taruskin 1984, 6. Ibid., 7. Ibid., 9–10. See Chadwick 1967, 78f. Ibid., 82. Chadwick 1967, 87. Heilbronn 1983, 54. Weiss and Taruskin 1984, 27. Ibid., 26–7. Ibid., 28. See Chadwick 1967, 86. Schafner 1978, 81; Nuzum 2001, 142; Blecha 2004, 75, 160–1. Weiss and Taruskin 1984, 26. Ibid., 26–7. Ibid., 31–2. Pike 1938, 33. Heroes and Villains | 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 Letters, cited in Weiss and Taruskin 1984, 27. Dale 2001, 412. Broenig 1990, 253. The Moody Blues in particular seemed to inspire a love-hate relationship with their critics, being hailed as both ambitious and creative as well as naively pretentious. See, for example, Bill Lockey’s 1990 interview with the band when they stopped in California (Lockey 1990). Camille 1992, 16–17. Weiss and Taruskin 1984, 62. From de Grocheio’s De musica, cited in Weiss and Taruskin 1984, 66. Pike 1938, 32. Ibid. Ibid., 36. Southworth mentions one popular show among the aristocrats, secular and religious, which featured a bear, honey and an actor’s exposed genitalia (1989, 6). Pike 1938, 38. Southworth 1989, 6. See Dale 2001, 413 on P. Riché’s suggestion that the medieval condemnation of dancing may be a remnant of censure against pagan practices. Weiss and Taruskin 1984, 62. Pike 1938, 32. Dale 2001, 412. Ibid., 408. Camille 1992, 57. Dale 2001, 414. Prior to Elvis’s appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show, police in Florida and San Diego warned Presley that if he moved at all on stage, he would be arrested for public obscenity (Nuzum 2001, 218). Other rock and roll artists were forbidden to dance on camera as well. In 1958, Bo Diddley forgot to hold still during the performance, and his salary was forfeited (Ibid., 221). Ironically, ‘The Twist’ became a fad among the jet-setters and the elite of American society, including Jackie Kennedy; European artists such as France’s Johnny Halliday and Britain’s leather-clad Vince Taylor are reminders of just how sexual ‘The Twist’ could be. 60 | The British Museum Citole 81 Cardinal Stritch noted in 1957 that due to its ‘hedonistic, tribal rhythms, rock and roll would be banned from all Chicago Catholic schools (Nuzum 2001, 220). Public (state) school children were presumably beyond redemption. 82 Peters 2000, 208. 83 Ibid., 209. 84 Nuzum 2001, 218. 85 Ibid., 222. 86 Ibid. 87 Ibid., 246. 88 Reverend David Noebel’s Communism, Hypnotism, and The Beatles (1965). Noebel believed that the end of Western civilization was nigh with the release of ‘Back in the USSR’ in 1967, commenting, ‘The lyrics have left even the Reds speechless’ (Schafner 1978, 113). 89 Norman 1981, 294. 90 Even Beatles’ supporters believed ‘Sgt Pepper’ was an excellent means of brainwashing, although rather as a means of spiritual enlightenment than mental destruction; see, for example, Schafner’s discussion of ‘Sgt Pepper’ and Timothy Leary’s reaction (1978, 81–3); Leary ‘[identiied] the Beatles as avatars for the new world order’ (Moore 1997, 61) – the bemused Beatles had no comment. For the Soviets’ claim, see Schafner 1978, 53. 91 Nuzum 2001, 168–9, 224. 92 Blecha 2004, 75; on the Nixon committee to root out and destroy dangerous songs, see Nuzum 2001, 233–4. The most bizarre result of this hunt for decadent rock stars and their mission to corrupt the nation’s youth was not Nancy Reagan’s rather earnest ‘Just Say No’ campaign of the early 1980s or even Tipper Gore and the PMRC’s record and CD warning label system, but rather when druggedaddled Elvis Presley showed up (armed) at the White House in 1971 to ask the then-President Nixon personally if he could become a ‘Federal Agent-at-Large’ in the Bureau of Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs to save America’s youth. See http://www.gwu. edu/~nsarchiv/nsa/elvis/elnix.html#docs (accessed 2 October 2010). 93 Johannes de Grocheio, De musica, in Weiss and Taruskin 1984, 65. Chapter 6 The British Museum Citole as a 16th-century Violin Context and Attribution Benjamin Hebbert The violin ittings on the otherwise excellently preserved medieval body of the British Museum citole have perplexed and irked many a viewer. Canon Galpin, for instance, declared in 1910 that as a violin the instrument occupied a ‘false and ludicrous position’.1 However, we must also be grateful for this attempt to modernize the instrument, for without it, this citole most surely would have been lost as was the case with every other citole. Since the 16th century, this instrument has been associated with Queen Elizabeth I due to silver mountings bearing her coat of arms and the date 1578. However, the violin elements have previously proven diicult to date and therefore it has not been clear if they are from a much later point in history, for example when the instrument was on the market in the late 18th century. Moreover, the earliest surviving violins made in England that have previously been identiied, made by Jacob Rayman in Southwark, cannot be dated before 1640, consequently making direct comparisons with the British Museum citole extremely diicult.2 In recent years, however, three early violins have emerged that all contain elements of craftsmanship related to the work on the British Museum citole. Additionally, an assortment of extant viols and plucked instruments made in London in the late 16th and early 17th centuries incorporate further elements that reinforce dating and identiication of the violin elements of this instrument. This chapter brings to prominence these three newly discovered violins of archaic ‘festooned’ form and discusses the strong evidence that attributes them to the Bassano family of Anglo-Venetian musicians and instrument makers active in London in 1578, subsequently arguing for an identical attribution for the belly of the citole. By situating the ittings and further elements of the violin phase of the British Museum citole within a nexus of inter-connected instruments made in London around the end of the 16th century, it is possible to argue that the citole is preserved as a violin largely in the state that it was left following the 1578 conversion. The violin elements of the British Museum citole The violin ittings of the British Museum citole consist of a soundboard, ingerboard and tailpiece, pegs and the pegbox to hold them, an internal back and the silver mountings (Pl. 1). The soundboard is carefully itted to the outline of the medieval citole body. However, in other respects it is what we would expect of a violin belly: it is vaulted, purled, has f-holes and an internal bass bar. It is made from rather poor quality lowland spruce with wide summer growth which blurs into comparatively broad winter growth. The ingerboard and tailpiece are a carefully matched set, with ive-strip purling arranged in geometric shapes with arabesques and punched circles ornamenting the surface area. The ingerboard is made from virburnum lantana (wayfaring tree) and the tailpiece from buxus sempervirens (boxwood), but these two wood types are very similar and were probably considered interchangeable. The false back is suspended within the body of the instrument to create the vibrating space typical of Cremonese style violins (see Introduction, Pl. 28). A silver cover over the pegbox is chased with the arms of Queen Elizabeth I and Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester. The tailgut securing the tailpiece is looped around a pin The British Museum Citole as a 16th-century Violin | 61 Plate 1 The violin ittings on the British Museum citole consisting of soundboard, ingerboard, tailpiece, bridge, pegs and silver mountings driven through a hole at the base of the trefoil. The top surface of the pin is covered with a cast lion’s head button, and the back surface is secured with a washer marked with the initials ‘IP’ and the date 1578 (Pl. 15). The broad context: the early history of the violin We associate the emergence of the violin as an instrument for dance music from the court of Isabella d’Este after 1492, and consider the arrival of the violin in essentially its modern form (with the exception of the speciic changes in setup, from the Renaissance through baroque and classical standards to the modern day) to have taken place during the middle of the 16th century. The earliest surviving violins that are familiar to modern eyes are the remainders of the set made by Andrea Amati (his labels read ‘Amadi’) in Cremona for King Charles IX of France. One of these preserved at the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford (WA1939.20) has an original and legible label providing the date of 1564. From Andrea Amati, the tradition of ine violin making passed directly through four generations of his family into the 18th century. Antonio Stradivari was the pupil of his grandson, Nicolo Amati, and collectively the Cremonese violinmakers working under Amati’s instruction became so inluential that their design for the violin came to dominate the European concept of violin design that is still known today. However, during the 16th century the Cremonese design appears to have been one of several competing designs for violinmakers; the 16th-century viewer would have been familiar with a variety of shapes and forms of the violin (and related instruments), and consequently the archaic form of the citole-cum-violin would have been much less out of place than it seems today. To some extent the enormous range of stringed instrument forms in the irst half of the 16th century appears to have been limited only by the imagination of the people who made them. The often cited frescos painted in 1535 by Gaudenzio Ferrari (c. 1471–1546) at the church of Santa Maria dei Miracoli in Saronno give us a remarkably early glimpse of a stringed instrument of modern-day violin shape. While this has been regarded for many years as the standard early evidence for the violin as we know it, a closer look at the frescos reveals much more about the musical world with which Gaudenzio was familiar. Six dozen angels 62 | The British Museum Citole are engaged in celestial music making, singing and playing an assortment of string, wind and percussion instruments. One instrument of recognizable violin form is singled out unjustly within an enormous choir of angels playing a myriad of instruments as early evidence of the development of the violin. While it is true that this shape is essentially the same as the Amati form of 20 years later, there is no evidence that speciic importance was placed on it in Gaudenzio’s time. In England, Sir Thomas More’s Utopia describes a similar celestial choir, revealing the motivation for asserting wild and imaginative variations of design: those in the Temple of Utopia ‘all stand up, upon a sign given by the priest, and sing hymns to the honour of God, some musical instruments playing all the while. These are quite of another form than those used among us; but, as many of them are much sweeter than ours, so others are made use of by us.’3 Notably, Gaudenzio is careful to depict the decoration of many of the instruments with the ribs or borders delicately ornamented with gold arabesques, seemingly implying the work of a single craftsman across many diferent shapes of instrument. This attests to an aesthetic that lends itself to variety rather than conformity. A surviving instrument from the early 16th century, a lira da braccio made by Giovanni d’Andrea of Verona in 1511 (see Chapter 8, Pl. 7) provides evidence of a freedom for instrument makers to work artistically.4 The mannerist decoration of the instrument, in most respects violin-like, attempts to convey the physicality of the human form, thus creating varied and engaging visual forms of musical instrument. Ultimately, the most successful designs of bowed stringed instruments were those that were of appropriate size for their open string pitches, large enough to provide the optimal size of resonating air cavity to produce the desired sound and yet narrow enough at the waist that a bow could pass over each of the strings individually without hitting the sides of the instrument. Hence, while a variety of competing forms of stringed instrument emerged in the early 16th century, the requirement to produce a certain desired musical purpose meant that as the century progressed, successful and sustaining forms of violin construction ended up being constrained by the same fundamental requirements that brought about the Cremonese designs of Andrea Amati we know today. Festooned violins Competing designs existed nonetheless, and amongst these a more sophisticated shape than the conventional violin appears to have achieved considerable popularity from the 16th into the 17th century. This ‘festooned’ form resembles the modern violin, but the upper and lower ‘bouts’ are divided into two, giving it a more ornate outline of efectively ive bouts rather than the usual three (Pl. 2). The sophistication of the outline has a certain amount in common with the British Museum citole, in fact it may be reasonable to suppose that the sophisticated outlines originated from a 16th-century experience of much older instruments that were equally complicated. This speciic ‘festooned’ violin shape appeared across Europe from about the 1560s.5 Venetian painters were amongst the irst to depict this form of instrument, and it is likely that the festooned shape was developed here because Venice was a centre for instrument making and an important trading port, aiding its rapid dissemination around Europe. One such violin is depicted in Paolo Veronese’s Marriage at Cana, commissioned by the Monastery of San Giorgio Maggiore in Venice in 1562.6 By the end of the 1560s this particular design was found throughout most of Europe, reaching as far aield as Poland and the Azores islands by the turn of the century.7 In 1619 Michael Praetorius included the festooned violin in his encyclopedia of scale drawings of musical instruments, labelled ‘Discant geige’ (Pl. 2). While 16th-century iconography of stringed instruments is very rare in England, an extremely high incidence of festooned instruments amongst those that survive suggests that the design must have been of particularly acute interest in this country. Hans Holbein provides two sources from the early 16th century that sit within the spectrum of design ideas inhabited by the citole and the modern violin. His design for the triumphal arch erected by the Steelyard to celebrate the marriage of Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn in 1533 shows a bowed stringed instrument of a complex form that is extremely similar to the shape of the British Museum citole (Pl. 3). A similar instrument hangs on a wall in Holbein’s sketch of Thomas More’s family from about 1527, added to the sketch by their colleague, Niklaus Kratzer.8 If Holbein’s depictions are typical of the instruments familiar to the court of Henry VIII, then it is easy to see how the festooned violin would it into English design expectations of the Tudor period. Plate 4 shows many festooned violins found in iconography from this time. At Hardwick Hall in Derbyshire, the Eglantine Table made for Bess of Hardwick in 1567 provides probably the earliest iconography of this kind of instrument that is irmly locatable in terms of time and place.9 Other iconographic sources for this kind of instrument include friezes on the ceiling of Gilling Castle in Yorkshire that are dated to the 1570s and a carved polychrome overmantle of Apollo and the Nine Muses said to originate from Toddington Manor (Pl. 5). Three festooned violins are played in an alabastor overmantle from Chatsworth, which bears the cipher of Queen Elizabeth I.10 A slightly later panel painting forming part of the architectural decoration in the Pillar Parlour of Bolsover Castle from the 1620s provides another English example of this kind of instrument. These representations, Plate 2 ‘Discant geige’, from Michael Praetorius, Syntagma musicum II, De Organographia (Wolfenbüttel, 1619), pl. XXI Plate 3 Sketch by Hans Holbein of Apollo and the Muses, 1533. Kupferstichkabinett, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, KdZ 3105. One of the muses bows an instrument with a shape similar to that of the British Museum citole (© photo: bpk / Kupferstichkabinett, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin / Jörg P. Anders) The British Museum Citole as a 16th-century Violin | 63 Eglantine Gilling Table (1567) Castle (1570s) Hoefnagel, Herstmonceux Castle Marriage Fete at Castle (c. 1570) (c. 1620) Bermondsey Toddington Chatsworth Bolsover Manor (c. 1580) (c. 1570) (c. 1569) located throughout England, relect the widespread familiarity with this design through the 1560s–80s. Although in each case they appear to be associated with Elizabethan aristocracy, it would seem that the acceptance of this design existed in the mainstream musical consciousness for it to travel so widely around England. The Flemish painter Joris Hoefnagel visited England for a few months in 1568–9 during which time he painted A Marriage Fete at Bermondsey.11 The painting includes two depictions of pairs of musicians playing instruments from the violin family. Of the musicians in the foreground, one has a festooned violin and the other a slightly smaller violin of more conventional form.12 This suggests a kind of violin pairing used for dance music in England, with the Plate 4 Diagram showing various festooned violins to be found in English iconography in the late 16th and early 17th centuries contrasting designs of instrument suggesting that they would have diferent voices, perhaps similar to a pairing of modern-day violin and viola. A stair post at Herstmonceux Castle, once again of late 16th-century origin, shows a similar pair of violins, one of either design. Instrument makers in London Stringed instrument making in 16th-century London was dominated by the family and workshop of John Rose.13 Rose irst appears in the account books of the London merchant Sir Thomas Chaloner in 1552 ‘for an other vyall to be made...of the inest sort’14 and in 1561 he was granted a lease on the Chamber of Presence and its surrounding apartments at Bridewell Palace.15 The Bridewell Court Record Books Plate 5 Carving from the Manor House, Toddington, showing Apollo and the Nine Muses (c. 1580), one of whom plays a festooned violin. Victoria and Albert Museum, A.12-1924 (© Victoria & Albert Museum, London) 64 | The British Museum Citole Plate 6 A festooned viol showing the hand of John Rose and bearing the arms of the Duke of Beaufort, late 16th century. Ashmolean Museum, Oxford, inv. no. WA1939.23 (photo © Ashmolean Museum, University of Oxford) record his lease for 8 August, stating how ‘the said Rose hath a most notable gift given of God in the making of instruments even soche a gift as his fame is sped through a great part of Christendom and his name as moche and now both for virtue and conning commended in Italy than in this his native contery’.16 According to the lease, the Rose family was already irmly established at Bridewell, and it seems that they remained there until the death of Queen Elizabeth I, when a review of royal privileges saw the palace turned over to other uses. Rose is credited with inventing several kinds of new stringed instruments, speciically the orpharion and bandora (which had leeting popularity in the late Tudor and Jacobean periods), and many of his designs focused on his virtuosity as a woodworker. Through John Rose’s workshop, we see the aesthetics of the festooned design reaching a peak of complexity, going far beyond the aesthetics of the violins that are the immediate subject of discussion, situating these as part of the normal visual aesthetic of musical instruments in the Tudor period. A beautiful festooned viol in the Ashmolean Museum can be attributed to John Rose (Pl. 6). It is decorated with the arms of Charles Somerset, the Duke of Beaufort, thus dating it to c. 1600.17 Other examples survive from his immediate circle (one has the label of John Strong, but is made of identical materials) or made by his successor, Henry Jaye. From this English school of viol making there Plate 7 A tenor recorder made of boxwood and stamped with the silk moths of the Bassano family. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, inv. no. 2010.205 (© Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, www. metmuseum.org) are possibly as many as a dozen surviving examples of festooned work. These instruments show how English craftsmen were keen to progress the aesthetics of the festooned viol, and in the decades around the year 1600 these represent the most sophisticated realization of this design concept to be found in Europe. Although primarily known for their wind instruments, another family of instrument makers is worth introducing here. The Bassano family of musicians and instrument makers originated in Venice and, following several visits to London in the 1530s, settled permanently in London at the invitation of Henry VIII in 1538. They were granted a royal privilege to live and work from the Charterhouse on the northern edge of the City of London.18 Perhaps as many as 100 Bassano wind instruments survive today, made in a The British Museum Citole as a 16th-century Violin | 65 Plate 8 A festooned violin without ribs, decorated with inked purling and silk moths. Musical Instrument Museums Edinburgh, EUCHMI 329 (© University of Edinburgh) continuous tradition up to the middle of the 17th century. The coat of arms of the Bassano family incorporates three silk moths and a mulberry tree, and their instruments are customarily stamped with tiny silk moths (Pl. 7). The majority of these instruments are made from boxwood, laburnum or maple, though one beautiful ivory tenor recorder demonstrates the extraordinary quality of workmanship and materials of which they were capable.19 Further indications of their skill, as well as the fact that they also made stringed instruments, comes from an inventory compiled by Jakob Fugger, superintendent of music at the Bavarian court, attached to a letter dated 26 March 1571. It describes ‘the chest made by the Bassani brothers’ in London that contained ‘instruments so beautiful and good that they are suited for dignitaries and potentates’.20 Amongst the collection, wind instruments are described as two ‘discants’, ‘more beautiful than any jasper’, a set of twelve crumhorns ‘all gloriously beautiful and good instruments’ and there were also nine ‘very beautiful and good’ recorders. The accompanying letter makes reference to six large viols and a chest of three lutes of black ebony with ivory spacers, all made by the Bassanos in London. Three festooned violins In this context, we turn to a group of three surviving instruments that are now preserved in UK museum collections in order to examine their age, nationality and, as 66 | The British Museum Citole far as possible, their attribution. These three violins, Edinburgh University Collection of Historic Musical Instruments (EUCHMI) 329 (Pl. 8), Dean Castle A54 (Pl. 9) and EUCHMI 5851 (Pl. 10), share a similar distinctive festooned shape, with an extra divot or scallop in each of the upper and lower bouts. All three instruments are of rather rough workmanship suggesting that they were never intended to be very ine instruments. They were also built without ribs, so the front and back plates of the instrument are joined directly to each other. Signiicantly reducing the size of the vibrating air cavity, this has dramatic implications for their sound. Given that bending ribs for an ordinary violin is a complex process requiring specialized tools and skills, it could be argued that the lack of ribs indicates that they must have been made by inexperienced violinmakers. However, ine examples of ribless instruments by violinmakers Mathias Wörle and Gaspar Borbon and workshop drawings from no less a maker than Antonio Stradivari indicate that the design, if not the quality of execution, lies within an accepted European instrumentmaking tradition. Another similarity between the three violins is that their scrolls have all been replaced. It is quite typical for an old violin’s neck to be replaced in response to modernizing trends, but the head and scroll of the original are nearly always grafted onto the new neck to preserve the identity of the instrument. Each of these instruments, however, has a neck graft and a new head, although at least in the case of EUCHMI 329, this new scroll is in itself quite old. This anomaly will be discussed later in conjunction with the pegs of the British Museum citole. All three of the instruments have languished under vague catalogue descriptions, causing them to be easily overlooked in any serious study up until now. The historical thread of EUCHMI 329 is perhaps the longest. In 1849 Sir John Dalyell recorded in his Musical Memoirs of Scotland that ‘Mr. Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe has a violin not by any means modern, consisting of only back and breast. Sides are wanting’.21 It passed to Sir Herbert Stanley Oakeley who loaned it to the South Kensington Museum in 1872 for their ‘Special Exhibition of Ancient Musical Instruments’, whereupon it was exhibited as item 124: ‘Violin. Ancient form. Flat, without sides. The neck has been altered. Lent by Professor Oakeley, Edinburgh University.’ Remarkably, it was displayed alongside item 125: the British Museum citole.22 Thereafter it was acquired by the Edinburgh University Collection of Historic Musical Instruments through the Reid Bequest, whereupon any signiicance was lost, earning its more recent attribution as an ‘18th century practice violin’. The second example, Dean Castle A54 (Pl. 9), is part of a little known Scottish collection of musical instruments at Dean Castle in Kilmarnock.23 It should be noted that no speciic Scottish connection should be applied to the instruments in the collection, which was assembled by Charles Van Raalte and housed at Brownsea Island in Dorset until his death in 1907. The violin has the bridge of W.E. Hill & Sons of New Bond Street in London, showing that it had passed through their hands. In a Sotheby’s valuation of the collection in the 1980s, the violin is described implausibly as a ‘German Mute Violin, 19th Century’.24 Plate 9 A festooned violin without ribs, decorated with inked purling and roses. Dean Castle, A54 (by permission of East Ayrshire Council / East Ayrshire Leisure) The third example, EUCHMI 5851 (Pl. 10), has the shortest known provenance. It appeared recently at a London auction house (described as an 18th-century dancing master’s violin) and following our identiication of it, was acquired by EUCHMI owing to its signiicant similarities to the two other festooned violins. The argument for a radically early attribution for these violins could not be made individually; it is only when they are compared to each other as well as to the violin elements of the British Museum citole that remarkable inferences can be made that date them to the 16th century. As we have seen, it can be reliably said that they follow a design that can be traced back to the 16th century and one that was well developed in England. Elements of their individual decoration, however, also suggest a Tudor origin. Both Dean Castle A54 and EUCHMI 329 have imitation inked purling rather than the inlaid wooden strips of proper purling. A single ink line traces the back, and the belly is decorated with two inked lines (about 5mm apart) embellished with dots and crosses between them (Pl. 13). Of particular note concerning both instruments is the method of attaching the neck with a ‘v’-shaped joint extending into the back of the instrument. (Without ribs, any conventional means of attachment would prove impossible.) With good humour, the maker has embellished the joint with inked stitches – a spurious piece of decoration that compellingly unites the two instruments as by the same hand and made at the same time (Pl. 11). The Dean Castle violin is also decorated with two roses, one drawn on the belly and the other situated in the same place on the back of the violin (Pls 11–12). The roses are of two diferent types and size, and their position surmounted on each other is representative of the Tudor roses of York and Lancaster.25 While the Tudor rose itself cannot be taken as reliable dating evidence (it was used extensively in the 17th century and remains a symbol of English monarchy today), the use of a subtle elaboration on the theme provides strong implications of a date from the Tudor period. The EUCHMI 329 violin has even more compelling decoration: four insects drawn onto each of the four corners of the front of the violin (Pl. 13). When examined closely, these turn out to be anatomically speciic, showing the hairy bodies and spotted wings speciic to the silk moth. The particular care to apply the symbol of a silk moth onto the corners of this violin appears to be a maker’s signature of the Bassano family. The red varnish covering the instrument is common to some wind instruments made by the Bassanos (for example, the recorder pictured in Pl. 7), providing further supporting evidence of a speciic attribution. When observations from both of these instruments are taken together they provide an extremely strong argument for a Bassano attribution and a date earlier than 1600. These two violins are also related to each other in outline. The Dean Castle example appears to have a very pure outline, but EUCHMI 329 is larger in size. A symmetrical violin form can be made from a ‘half-template’ which can be traced around and then turned over to create the other side of the instrument. It seems in this case that such a template Plate 10 A festooned violin without ribs with wood purling. Musical Instrument Museums Edinburgh, EUCHMI 5851 (© University of Edinburgh) The British Museum Citole as a 16th-century Violin | 67 Plate 11 (left) Back of Dean Castle, A54 showing inked stitches and rose (by permission of East Ayrshire Council / East Ayrshire Leisure) Plate 12 (right) Reconstruction of the rose on the front of Dean Castle A54, which is partially obscured behind the long ingerboard was used for the Dean Castle violin, and the larger Edinburgh example has been enlarged from the same form. This has been achieved by skewing the centre line, to make the form broader, and redrawing the lower bouts (Pl. 14). As a result the two marginally diferent sizes respond to the iconography of the 1560s–70s and relect other trends in violin making at the same time. The small and large violins of the Charles IX commission made by Andrea Amati in Cremona in the 1560s and the surviving 16th-century works by Gasparo da Salò and Giovanni Paolo Maggini of Brescia all show a variation of sizes being built concurrently. This may also explain the diferent colours of varnish used for either instrument, as a way of diferentiating the two types rather than as evidence that they were made at a diferent time. The two colours would give a strong visual indicator of the diferent functions that each size was intended to serve in the performance of music. This is also consistent with the two sizes of instrument found in iconography of the period, and arguably provides a simpler solution than producing instruments of varied design. The citole survives in a violin-like state, with a belly, ingerboard and tailpiece that are in a violin style. Signiicance has been placed on this state of preservation because of the associated silver cover itted to the pegbox and accompanying silver ittings attaching the tailpiece to the instrument. The pegbox cover has the arms of Elizabeth I and her favourite, Robert Dudley. The cover is hinged at the end closest to the dragon head, with two arms extending up the edges of the ingerboard to hold a locking pin (see Introduction, Pls 10–14). Scientiic analysis reveals that the metal is a silver-copper alloy and gilded by the mercury method.26 The tailpiece is secured by tailgut wrapping around a pin through the stem of the trefoil with a lion’s head button on the top surface, and a washer on the back (Pl. 15). The washer bearing the initials ‘IP’ and the date 1578 is an irregular ive-sided shape with notches cut out of it, and can be interpreted as a Tudor rose. The initials ‘IP’ gave rise to an attribution to one John Pemberton in 19th-century sources, although in recent years no evidence has come to light to indicate his existence. In fact, this is not an instrument maker’s signature, but a goldsmith’s mark relating solely to the metal work. A silver cup from 1570–1 stamped ‘IP’ is part of the collection donated by Matthew Parker to Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, upon his death in 1575.27 Of great interest is the cast lion’s head button securing the tailgut, for similar examples can be found on a contemporaneous cittern made in Brescia by Girolamo Plate 13 Detail of a silk moth adorning a corner of EUCHMI 329 (© University of Edinburgh) Plate 14 Comparison of outlines of Dean Castle A54 and EUCHMI 329. Left: outlines align on bass side but not treble side. Right: when the half template is skewed, the treble sides line up as well Attributing the conversion of the British Museum citole: the silverwork 68 | The British Museum Citole Plate 15 Details of the silverwork afixing the tailpiece Virchi.28 This instrument has an unbroken provenance to Archduke Ferdinand II of Tyrol, to whom it was given in 1574. It is richly decorated with polychrome igures at the head and shoulders as well as a delicately worked soundhole encrusted with jewels. The silver lion heads ornament the joint between the neck and body. Two other citterns by Virchi have similar decorative schemes but difer in the level of realization: they may have the same woodcarving, but it is not painted, or wooden escutcheons in place of the silver ones.29 It may be speculated that a similar cittern was made for the Elizabethan court, and when for whatever reason the lion’s head became detached it was reused in musical instrument workshops associated with the royal court. The Bassanos gave a ‘fair cittern’ to Queen Mary I as a New Year’s gift in 1556, marking the instrument’s earliest reference within an English court context at a time when it was a relatively recent invention in Italy.30 A decade later in 1566–7, Mark Anthony Galliardello, a Brescian musician in the English court, gave Elizabeth I ‘a fayre Cytrene with a Stone like an Emeralde in the sounde of the bellye’.31 This description is consistent with the jewels mounted within the soundhole decoration of Girolamo Virchi’s cittern for Archduke Ferdinand, and may well be the source for the lion’s head pin on the citole. Thus the metal work irmly places the conversions to the citole in the year 1578. The ittings and setup The ingerboard and tailpiece form an obvious pair, being well proportioned to one another and showing the same stylistic approach to their making and the same inlaid decoration (Pls 16–17). Once more these can be shown to be consistent with the 1578 date through comparison with other surviving instruments. The ive-strand purling proves to be a feature of both English and northern Italian work of this period.32 In England, various early viols have purling of this type, including the Beaufort Bass (Pl. 6), the similar viol by John Strong in the Folger Shakespeare Library, both of pre-1600 date, as well as a viol by John Hoskin dated 1609 in the National Music Museum, Vermillion. Punched circles forming part of the decorative embellishments are an exclusively English element. These are a signiicant decorative element on an instrument made by John Rose in 1580, the cymbalum decachordon (the name is inlaid around the ribs). This instrument, a ive course wire-strung guitar, was purportedly the gift of Elizabeth I to another of her favourites, Lord Tollemache, in whose family it has remained to the present day at Helmingham Hall in Sufolk. Other instruments with punched decoration include a cittern of demonstrably English manufacture with the label ‘Petrus Raitta / Anno Domini 1579’,33 several undated examples and is a decorative element of English manufacture through the Jacobean period in the works of Richard Blunt and Henry Jaye. Lastly, the arabesques are stylistically resonant with Rose’s cymbalum decachordon and the Beaufort Bass. It is evident from the truncated purling that the ingerboard has been shortened at the end closest to the pegbox. However, the proportions of the ingerboard over the belly of the instrument are as expected for violins of this early period, as is the undercutting of the ingerboard up to the neck. While the shortening could be an indication that it was recycled from another instrument, it is also likely that an instrument maker improvised with pre-made ittings in order to fulil this special order. Fingerboards and tailpieces are the kind of object that favours production in multiples, so it is likely that a maker would adapt what they already had if it would provide a satisfactory result. Recall that the ingerboard and tailpiece are made from diferent, though visually similar, types of wood, as though the maker reached into a bin of pre-made parts. Some further evidence of this attitude towards making the instrument is witnessed with the salvaged Brescian lion’s head incorporated into the metalwork of the instrument, suggesting that speed and necessity dictated the decision-making process. The ingerboard is supported on a pair of wedges (one on either side of the instrument’s neck, which is hollow) in its present coniguration (see Appendix B, Fig. 22). Although wedges of this sort would have existed at an earlier time, these appear to be replacements. They are stamped with circular decoration like the surfaces of the ingerboard and tailpiece, but the stamps here are made with a piece of rolled metal, which in some places has come unspiralled, rather than the consistent circular stamp of the ingerboard and tailpiece. Moreover, the punches match the stamping on the pegs, which are extremely unlikely to date before the 19th century. These elements suggest standard maintenance that may have happened around the time that the instrument was irst exhibited at the South Kensington Museum, although deinitive dating would be impossible.34 The tailpiece appears to provide evidence of multiple stages in the conversion of the citole to a violin, creating an The British Museum Citole as a 16th-century Violin | 69 Plate 16 Fingerboard of the British Museum citole, showing ive-strip purling and decorative punches and arabesques. It has been shortened at the nut end Plate 17 Tailpiece of the British Museum citole, showing ive-strip purling and decorative punches and arabesques. It has been shortened at the tailgut end enigma in terms of an overall understanding of its existence around the period of 1578. While these ittings are completely in keeping with English work of the period, this inconsistency does not rule out the possibility of multiple phases in the conversion of the instrument. The tailpiece is well preserved in its original state for four strings and has not been changed. Since it matches the ingerboard we are safe in stating that at the time these were irst added, the violin was intended to be for four strings. However, an internal analysis of the pegbox of the citole suggests that initially it was carefully excavated for three strings only. In 1578 when the silver-gilt pegbox cover was made, it was itted to this irst-state excavation. This suggests either that the intended 1578 state was for three strings only, or that the pegbox cover was itted to cover over a pegbox that had been carved out during an earlier stage of the citole’s life as a violin. In its present state, X-ray photographs clearly show that space has been made for a fourth string by undercutting into the instrument, using very diferent tool techniques to the remainder of the pegbox, and that two of the original holes have been illed and the pegbox has been redrilled for four pegs with better alignment (See Introduction, Pl. 25, and Appendix B, Figs 28–31). Although several possibilities arise from this evidence, it is perhaps most likely that the citole had an earlier violin-like existence with three strings which was stripped back and overhauled in 1578. The anomaly of the pegbox and its itted cover could easily be an attempt to preserve as much of the original decoration as possible, since the opening still provides ample access for the modiied pegbox for four strings. Another possibility is that it was set up as a three-stringed violin in 1578, and fairly quickly modernized into a four-stringed violin, taking care to preserve the pegbox cover.35 It is important to recall that none of the Bassano violins have their original heads, with EUCHMI 329 seemingly having had its head replaced very early on. Although there are many possible reasons for this, including a common design failure, these may provide growing evidence of an early practice of making three-stringed violins. To replace an entire scroll is rather unusual, but if these violins, like the British Museum citole-cum-violin, were originally made to 70 | The British Museum Citole have three strings, then a new scroll would be necessary to modernize them by adding another string. The soundboard One of the problems of interpreting the British Museum citole is the inexplicably poor quality of the violin front that has been applied to it (Pl. 18). The choice of lowland spruce, although abundant in England, is inconsistent with the very ine Alpine spruce present on works by John Rose and his circle, and would have looked inferior to imported instruments of the period. Likewise, the purling decoration on some of Rose’s instruments represents the virtuosic capability of instrument makers associated with the English court. Contrastingly, the purling inlay of the belly of the British Museum citole is below the quality normally found in violin making. The soundboard’s three-strip purling is thick and somewhat rough. Given the overall quality of the instrument this seems to be an unlikely juxtaposition, throwing into question whether this particular violin front has any relevance to the silver mountings from the violin conversion and the goldsmith’s mark of 1578. From visual inspection however, the wood is extremely similar to the choice found on the Bassano violins. Likewise, the purling on the soundboard of the British Museum citole compares favourably to the purling on EUCHMI 5851, the only one of the three Bassano violins to have inlaid purling. While the quality of spruce for the belly of the citole is out of keeping with its overall presentation, one piece of evidence may provide some reasoning for the lack of necessity to produce a visually more appealing work: a row of tapered wooden pins inserted into the belly along its length are visible in X-ray images of the instrument (See Introduction, Pl. 27). Either the exterior portions of these pins have been removed, or it is also possible that the present pins were used to plug holes left by an earlier attachment to the instrument. While there is no conventional explanation for these pins within our general understanding of instrument making, it is possible that they are evidence of securing hooks for a textile covering for the instrument’s belly. If this is correct, it would follow a well-documented Tudor court fashion for covering Plate 18 Belly of the British Museum citole instruments with the inest Italian damask or otherwise decorating them in a manner that simulated it. A most efective example of this is the cymbalum decachordon by John Rose, which uses purled inlay and punchwork to simulate the designs of Venetian damask fabrics. The bass viol bearing the arms of the Duke of Beaufort not only has a purled damask design, but a brand has been used to burn the wood in a manner that resembles a painterly approach to depicting these expensive fabrics (Pl. 6). A similar argument can be made for the Venetian-made virginals bearing Elizabeth I’s coat of arms, made by Giovanni Antonio Bafo in 1594 and decorated with gilded arabesques.36 Another set of Venetian virginals made in the previous year by Giovanni Celestini has remnants of 16th-century velvet covering the exterior.37 Various warrants survive from the Lord Chamberlain’s oice from 1557 to 1596 demonstrating the widespread application of the practice of covering keyboard instruments with ine fabrics. For instance, an entry from 29 September 1582 reads: Warrant for the delivery of crimson velvet for covering, lining, and ornamenting divers of the Queen’s ‘regalls and virginalls’, and for the covering with velvet four pair of regals and virginals and for ornamenting the same with gold and silver lacquer; for covering and ornamenting divers virginals with green velvet and levant leather, and for iron work for the same; for a wooden box lined with velvet for a pair of virginals.38 Hence, it is possible to ind a potential rationale to explain both the lack of necessity to source iner wood for the instrument and the tentative function of the pins pressed into the front of the instrument. The presence of arabesques engraved into the wood of the ingerboard and tailpiece of the citole are consistent with this decorative trend, and may be further evidence of a more extensive arabesque decoration when the instrument was presented in 1578. Dean Castle A54 EUCHMI 329 Reconstructed Bassano BM Citole The bass bar (an internal brace running the length of the body of the instrument on the bass side) is made from a separate piece of wood from the belly and glued in during the making process. The painstaking process of itting a bass bar, which has to be precisely shaped to it the internal contours of the belly, is an indication of a high level of both awareness and skill in the making of stringed instruments. It would be easier to omit a bass bar entirely, or to leave a spine of wood in place as the soundboard is carved, a common technique found in various early instruments. The bass bar is no greater than 4mm in height, about half the expected dimension, and similar bass bars are found in the Bassano violins. Analysis of soundholes provides further good evidence for similarities between all instruments. Sadly, none of the Bassano violins are in particularly good condition, and no pure soundhole outline has been preserved. Moreover, they all seem to have been made in such a quick manner that it is doubtful that they were particularly accurately cut in the irst place. Nevertheless, by transposing the Dean Castle and EUCMHI 329 violin soundholes on top of each other, it is possible to create a reconstruction that shows common gross measurements, alignment and key elements of design (Pl. 19). The soundholes on the British Museum citole are more reined than the violins, however they have a number of similarities. In each instrument, the tail is much longer than the head, giving them a ‘club-footed’ appearance. The outside curves are identical, and the outer edge of the corpus takes the same orientation. Conclusion In this analysis, no single factor is strong enough to determine an absolute connection between the British Museum citole and the three violins attributed to the Bassanos. However, a reliable method of attribution is built up through recognition of the numerous separate elements Plate 19 Soundhole comparison between Bassano violins and British Museum citole. From left to right, Dean Castle A54, EUCHMI 329, reconstruction of Bassano soundhole; British Museum Citole, and a comparison of the three. Vertical lines show how in all cases the outside Reconstructed edge is used as centre line. Red lines show Bassano/BM Citole where the curves are identical comparison The British Museum Citole as a 16th-century Violin | 71 of style and construction that can be matched across the four diferent specimens. This provides a strong process of attribution for the belly of the citole as the work of the Bassanos, and further provides reinforcing evidence for the attribution of the Bassano violins. In terms of dating, these provide a irm case for a 16th-century date, in line with the 1578 date of the silverwork on the British Museum citole. The compatibility of conclusions relating to these specimens helps to reinforce one another. Multiple elements place the ingerboard and tailpiece as compliant with an English attribution and broadly the same timeframe as the 1578 date, even if not precisely concurrent. As a result these are the earliest English violin ittings extant, and one of the oldest veriiable sets from anywhere in Europe. A previous study of the violin state of the British Museum citole by Charles Beare published in the British Museum Yearbook suggested a very diferent set of afairs for this instrument, implying that the front was of late 18th-century provincial work and that the old ittings were of little historical signiicance for the instrument.39 It should be noted that there is a certain similarity between the belly and examples of crude 18th-century work, particularly when gauged against the cheaper works of Charles and Samuel Thompson or Thomas Cahusac. However, a more compelling comparison can be made with the violins attributed to Bassano. By applying a nexus methodology to the identiication of these instruments it is possible to ind supporting evidence from a wide group of instruments that demonstrates concordances between them on sometimes minute levels of detail. Although there is no single element of the citole that can assure attribution to the Bassanos, the weight of individual pieces of evidence provides a compelling case for attribution and for understanding the instrument as most probably being in the same state now as it was when Robert Dudley made it a gift to his queen. Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Galpin 1910, 24. Fairfax, Dilworth et al. 2000, 20. Carpenter 1981. Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna, inv. no. 89. Stringed instruments of a festooned outline are not unusual, although now they are very rare. These it into several traditions – the Nuremburg makers Ernst Busch and Paul Hiltz produced a distinctive shape of instrument in the 1640s, and Milanese instruments by Giovanni Grancino and Carlo Antonio Testore exist in small number from the late 17th and early 18th centuries. Likewise, certain English viols by John Rose and Henry Jaye (among others) also survive. However all of these examples, though distinctive from one another, conform to a teardrop shape, in which the middle bouts continue downwards. Musée du Louvre, Paris, inv. 142. From Poland, August Sokołowski’s Dzieje Polski Illustrowane (1901) shows a copy of a lost 18th-century manuscript which in turn shows a festooned violin made without ribs, purportedly by Marcin Groblitz in Krakow around 1580. Sokołowski 1901 (V, 82). In the Azores, a festooned violin can be seen in Vasco Pereira Lusitano’s altarpiece of the Coronation of the Virgin, painted in 1605 for the Church of All Saints in Ponta Delgada (Museu Regional Carlos Machado, Azores). Remnant 1986, pl. 148. Hardwick Hall, Derbyshire, National Trust, inv. no. 1127774. See Wells-Cole 1997, 249. Ibid., 253–4. In the collection of the Marquess of Salisbury, Hatield House. The second pair of musicians are less distinct, but there is no reason to imagine they are playing anything diferent. 72 | The British Museum Citole 13 Strictly speaking, there were two instrument makers named John Rose, a father and a son. Exactly which man is identiied in references and on instrument labels remains a matter of scholarly debate. For our purposes we will not attempt to distinguish between them, but speak in the broader sense of the Rose workshop. 14 Pringle 1978, 502. 15 Bridewell Palace had become home to an organ-making workshop some time around 1515, which may have evolved to make stringed instruments as a result of the Reformation. 16 Bridewell Court Record Books, quoted in Pringle 1978, 502. 17 Boyden 1969, 9–10. A second festooned viol attributed to Rose is in the Caldwell Collection. It is lavishly illustrated in Caldwell 2012, 18–23. 18 For more on the Bassanos see Lasocki 1995. 19 This instrument belonged to the Margrave of Baden-Baden and is now in the Edinburgh University collection, inv. no. 3921 (Myers 2000, 48). 20 Lasocki 1995, 212–13. 21 Dalyell 1849, 26. A provenance sticker on the back of the instrument reads ‘Reid Bequest’ and a second states ‘Curious Old Violin without sides. – see Dalyells Musical Memoirs’. 22 Engel 1872, 20. 23 Dean Castle, Kilmarnock, inv. no. MI/A54. 24 The implication of being 19th century and German is that these were mass produced, in which case other examples would be abundant. However, they are not. 25 The Tudor rose as we know it was only one of many ways of using the individual roses in combination to relect the union of the houses of York and Lancaster, and therefore this is a legitimate Tudor representation. It is commonly found on the faces of English clocks of the Restoration period, and in particular it forms the decoration of two 17th-century violins, one attributed to Jacob Rayman from c. 1645 and the other with the cipher ‘CR’ and the date 1665 inlaid into the back. 26 Kevin et al. 2008, 15 (Appendix A, this volume, p. 112). 27 See Cliford 1997, 6. 28 Kunsthistoriches Museum, Vienna, inv. no. A61. 29 Musée du Louvre, Paris, inv. no. D.MR.R.434 and Musée de la musique, Paris, E 1271. 30 Lasocki 1995, 213. 31 Ashbee 1992, 18. 32 Hebbert 2009. 33 The punched decoration occurs on the pegbox. National Music Museum, South Dakota, cat. no. NMM 13500 (see Chapter 9, this volume, Pl. 2). 34 The many reproductions of the citole in the late 18th and 19th centuries, including several engravings, photographs and the electrotype copy made in 1869 are inconsistent and inconclusive in their depictions of the ingerboard wedge. See Hawkins engraving and pictures of the electrotype (see Introduction, this volume, Pls 1–2). 35 For another discussion of the violin pegging, see BuehlerMcWilliams 2007, 39–41 (Appendix B, this volume, 138–9). 36 Victoria and Albert Museum, London, inv. no. 19-1887. 37 Royal College of Music Museum of Musical Instruments, London, inv. no. 176. The catalogue states ‘Velvet has been tacked and glued to the outside of the case, probably during the 19th century.’ (Wells 2000 (http://www.cph.rcm.ac.uk/Catalogues/keyboard%20 catalogue/Harpsichord%20family/RCM%20176%20Virginal. htm). Contrary to this assertion the velvet is entirely consistent with 16th-century furnishings (such as the Tudor and Early Stuart furniture from Whitehall Palace, preserved in the Long Gallery at Knole in Kent) and was old and very worn when it was photographed for the catalogue of the Vienna Exhibition of Music and Theatre in 1892 (Die Internationale Ausstellung für Musik-und Theartrum 1892 1894), p. xvi, no. 17, p. 71). Therefore the grounds for this 19th-century attribution is inexplicable. Supporting evidence for the presence of Celestini’s work in England comes from a harpsichord made in 1596 which is preserved in an English itted wainscot case (Royal Ontario Museum, Toronto). 38 Ashbee 1992, 8, 44, 64, 144; Ashbee 1993, 142. 39 Remnant and Marks 1980, 102–3. Chapter 7 Dudley’s Penance The Gift of a Musical Instrument at Elizabeth’s Court Kathryn Buehler-McWilliams For over 200 years, the British Museum citole has been swathed in a myth. In 1776, Sir John Hawkins devoted part of his voluminous history of music to a description of this instrument, and for the irst time in recorded history mentioned the tradition that accompanied the citole: that Queen Elizabeth (r. 1558–1603) gave it to her favourite, Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester (see Pls 2–3).1 The reason for this assumption is clear: the silver plate over the pegbox is engraved with the arms of Elizabeth and Robert Dudley. However appealing the notion of such a gift may be, it has never been proven one way or the other whether the citole really did belong to Elizabeth or Dudley. The origins of the myth, whether based on Elizabethan knowledge or conjecture in the centuries that followed, are unknown. As yet, no records are known that would conirm or negate it; only the silverwork suggests ownership. The silverwork consists of a gilded plaque over the pegbox engraved with the arms of Elizabeth and Dudley (Pl. 1), a lion’s head pin at the base of the trefoil and a washer on the back opposite the pin, stamped with the initials ‘IP’ and the date 1578 (see Chapter 6, Pl. 15). On the pegbox cover the royal crest is surmounted by a crown and Dudley’s crest (the bear and ragged staf ) is topped with an earl’s coronet. Both are encircled in a belt inscribed with the motto of the Order of the Garter: ‘Honi soit qui mal y pense’. A braided decorative border frames each crest, dividing the available space into two equal panels. The silverwork has been judged by experts at the British Museum to be appropriate for the time period: the metal is a silver-copper alloy, gilded in the mercury (ire-gilding) method.2 The speciic it of the cover over the pegbox makes it unlikely that it was taken from another object. This constitutes the only surviving evidence that the instrument belonged to Queen Elizabeth. While Ben Hebbert has demonstrated in his chapter that the craftsmanship of the violin parts is wholly in line with an Elizabethan transformation,3 this study will demonstrate that this citole-turned-violin served an appropriate role in Elizabeth’s court. This chapter will consider the use of the violin at court, particularly to provide dance music; the relationship between Elizabeth and Dudley; and the layers of meaning this object would have had as a gift from one to the other. The date 1578 is particularly curious as it marks not the height of their passionate relationship, but a date some 18 years later when Dudley chose, apparently in secret, to marry someone else. Violins at court In Elizabeth I’s time the violin was still a recently invented instrument and it lacked the standardization that now characterizes it. The invention of the violin has generally been accredited to the court of Isabella d’Este in Ferrara in the irst decade of the 16th century. From the outset, the violin was a consort instrument and associated speciically with dance music.4 Its cousin, the viol, which was probably developed only one decade earlier in the same court, was used for contrapuntal music. The viol was introduced into England in the early 16th century. Musicologist Peter Holman argues that the van Wilder family of musicians brought viols with them when they came to England around Dudley’s Penance | 73 Plate 1 The silver pegbox cover engraved with the royal arms of Queen Elizabeth I and the bear and ragged staff device of Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester 1515. These were versatile musicians who played the lute as well as the viol and were members of the Privy Chamber. However, in 1540 an established consort of string players came to the court of Henry VIII and quickly supplanted the previous heterogeneous groups.5 The string consort consisted of six players who were recruited from Italy, though it is likely that many of them, if not all, were Sephardic Jews. The group was variously identiied as players of ‘violles’ and ‘violens’; Peter Holman reasons thus: ‘most likely, the six original members of the group brought complete sets of viols and violins with them when they came to England in 1540, the former to be used for contrapuntal music, the latter for dance music’.6 After Elizabeth’s accession in 1558, the consort was always identiied as the ‘violins’ in court treasury books, probably as a consequence of her preference for dance music.7 The popularity of the violin in Elizabeth’s court paralleled her love of dancing. Many ambassadors described how music and dancing were regular occurrences in her court. For instance, in June 1559 a Venetian ambassador wrote: ‘The Queen’s daily arrangements are musical performances and other entertainments, and she takes marvellous pleasure in seeing people dance.’8 Elizabeth herself was also an avid dancer. A remarkable report from 1589, when she was 56 years old, states that ‘six or seven galliards in a morning, besides music and singing, is her ordinary exercise’.9 The queen danced both in private and in public. Eyewitness accounts frequently describe her watching other people dance, but occasionally they list her as one of the participants. One Spanish account from 1599 reported that, ‘On the day of Epiphany the Queen held a great feast, in which the head of the Church of England and Ireland was to be seen in her old age dancing three or four galliards.’10 However, at other times she danced in private; her morning exercise would certainly have taken place in the privacy of one of her inner rooms. The records are frustratingly silent about who provided the music for these occasions, but it could logically have been an individual member of the 74 | The British Museum Citole string consort. As royal musicians, they were expected to be in daily attendance at court.11 In addition to playing for late night dances, did they also play for the queen’s morning exercise? There is evidence that musicians did enter a private chamber to accompany dancing. A description from 1541 about Anne of Cleves, newly divorced from Henry VIII, reveals that she was accustomed to have musicians in her chamber so she could dance. After the divorce, ‘when the musicians come they are told that it is no more the time to dance’.12A single violinist, in the role of dancing master, could provide music. Elizabeth, then, probably followed the custom of inviting a violin player into her chamber to provide dance music. Instruments in the violin family, which were always played standing, remained the realm of professional musicians. The fretted viol, on the other hand, became a popular amateur instrument. Dudley, along with many of his colleagues, owned chests of viols.13 The British Museum citole, transformed into a violin, would have been played for Elizabeth, but she would not have played it herself. It could have been used to provide music in a private setting for dances, perhaps performed in consort for public dancing, and in either case might symbolize her love of music and dancing. To the modern eye, playing this instrument like a violin appears daunting. Not only does the thick neck look heavy and unmanageable, but the trefoil would run into your neck long before your chin could reach the instrument. However, in the Renaissance, violins and violas were held in a variety of positions, generally with the chin to the right of the tailpiece (opposite from modern technique) and frequently not touching the instrument at all. When holding the British Museum citole (or technically a copy thereof) in this manner, the trefoil rests comfortably on the shoulder. The thumbhole is large enough for the violinist’s hand and even allows for shifting in low positions. Elizabeth and Dudley In the words of historian Derek Wilson, ‘for four and a half centuries people have struggled to explain the special bond which existed between these two young people’.14 William Camden, Elizabeth’s biographer in the early 17th century, ascribed it to ‘a sympathy of spirits between them, occasioned perhaps by some secret constellation’.15 In many ways, their relationship was the product of family ties forged long before Elizabeth ascended the throne. Robert Dudley’s father was inluential in the court of Henry VIII, and as a child, Robert was raised with Elizabeth’s younger brother Edward. Robert endured the tumultuous years under the rule of Mary I (r. 1553–8), like Elizabeth spending time in the Tower of London, then supporting Elizabeth and earning her lifelong gratitude. On her accession day (17 November 1558), Elizabeth named him Master of the Horse, a post that kept him involved with progresses, military preparation, entertainment such as music and masques and, perhaps most importantly, as it assured opportunities for private conversation, Elizabeth’s frequent hunting rides. During the next few months and years their friendship grew closer, until Dudley was viewed as the queen’s favourite by all the court. Ambassadorial reports are replete with rumours that the queen would Plate 2 Queen Elizabeth I, unknown continental artist, c. 1575. National Portrait Gallery, London, NPG 2082 (© National Portrait Gallery, London) Plate 3 Robert Dudley, 1st Earl of Leicester, unknown Anglo-Netherlandish artist, c. 1575. National Portrait Gallery, London, NPG 447 (© National Portrait Gallery, London) marry her Master of the Horse. For instance, the Italian ambassador described Robert Dudley as ‘a very handsome young man towards whom in various ways the Queen evinces such afection and inclination that many persons believe that if his wife, who has been ailing for some time, were perchance to die, the Queen might easily take him for her husband.’16 Dudley’s wife Amy Robsart was in fact found dead at the bottom of a staircase in 1560. We can speculate that before Amy Robsart’s death, Elizabeth could lirt with Dudley because marriage was unobtainable. However, now that it was suddenly a possibility, duty and reason set in and Elizabeth backed away. Perhaps Dudley, on the other hand, despite accusations of murder, saw in the death of his wife a chance to consider seriously marriage with Elizabeth. Even though this marriage would never take place, they remained devoted friends all of their lives. Elizabeth bestowed a number of honours upon Dudley, the most signiicant of which was the earldom of Leicester. However, at times their friendship was strained. Elizabeth was notoriously jealous of the women in her councillors’ lives, to the extent that most wives lived in the country while their husbands served at court. Moreover, Elizabeth used her status as a single queen to bargain in the political arena. During the course of her reign, marriage proposals were ofered by Phillip of Spain, Charles of Austria and the Duke of Alençon. Dudley, being protective of the queen, tended to disapprove of these proposals, but this did not prevent him from surreptitiously lirting with other women at court. In the early 1570s Dudley had an afair with Lady Douglas Sheield, which culminated in a secret marriage in 1573. Lady Douglas bore him a son, but when Dudley’s interests took him elsewhere, he bribed Lady Douglas to disavow the marriage and his son was never acknowledged to be legitimate. The reason for this was that Dudley’s eye had been caught by Lettice Knollys, Elizabeth’s irst cousin and reputed to be the most beautiful lady in Elizabeth’s retinue. Along with the obvious physical attraction, he was also led to contemplate marriage because of a sincere desire for a legitimate son to carry on the family name. His only surviving brother, Ambrose, was ageing and did not show any hope of fathering a son. It would be left to Robert to produce an heir. Expressing poignant feelings, he wrote: [It] forceth me… to be [the] cause almost of the ruin of my own house. For there is no likelihood that any of our bodies of men kind [are] like to have heirs. My brother you see long married and not like[ly] to have children. It resteth so now in myself, and yet,… if I should marry I am sure never to have favour of them that I had rather yet never have wife than lose… yet is there nothing in the world next that favour that I would not give to be in hope of leaving some children behind me, being now the last of our house. But yet, the cause being as it is, I must content myself…17 Dudley realized that his own marriage would put his relationship with Elizabeth at risk. While there was little Dudley’s Penance | 75 likelihood at this late date that Elizabeth would ever consent to marrying Dudley herself, their relationship was still valuable to him personally and certainly politically. However, in 1578, Dudley made his own decision and married Lettice Knollys secretly in the early spring and then in a private ceremony at Wanstead on 21 September 1578, at the insistence of her father, supposedly without informing the queen. Elizabeth’s reaction to Dudley’s marriage remains unknown. The irst account to mention it is William Camden’s History of the Reign of Queen Elizabeth, published in 1615, nearly 40 years after the event. Camden reported that Dudley’s marriage was kept a closely guarded secret from the queen. He maintained that it was not until July 1579 – an entire year later – that Elizabeth found out.18 As Camden put it, Jean de Simier, the ambassador from France, was negotiating the possible marriage between Elizabeth and the Duke of Alençon. In the attempt to get even with Dudley for opposing the French marriage, Simier supposedly told Elizabeth of Dudley’s secret marriage. Enraged, Elizabeth placed Dudley under house arrest, and would have conined him to the Tower had the Earl of Sussex not interceded on his behalf. There are a number of problems with Camden’s account. First, the queen’s spy network was so extensive it seems highly unlikely that such an event could have been kept from her for long. A few years before, when Elizabeth had suspected Dudley of courting Lady Douglas, she instructed spies to watch them.19 Also, as Dudley and Sussex lead rival factions (as put by Camden, he was ‘his greatest and deadliest adversary’), it seems unlikely that Sussex would defend him. Further, Camden’s account of the queen’s decisive reaction to Dudley’s marriage is not corroborated by contemporary ambassadorial reports, which were generally a source of court gossip. The alternative view widely accepted by modern scholars is that Dudley confessed his plans to Elizabeth privately. A possible scenario is revealed in a report by Bernardino de Mendoza, the Spanish ambassador: The Queen had ixed the 28th [of April, 1578] for my audience with her, but as she was walking in the garden that morning she found a letter which had been thrown into the doorway, which she took and read, and immediately came secretly to the house of the earl of Leicester who is ill here. She stayed there until ten o’clock at night and sent word that she could not see me that day as she was unwell. I have not been able to learn the contents of the letter, and only know that it caused her to go to Leicester’s at once.20 Whatever the contents of the note and the revelations that followed, they caused Elizabeth to cancel her plans for the day and spend it with Dudley. Immediately after this meeting, Dudley travelled to Buxton for his health and avoided court until late July, missing much of Elizabeth’s summer progress. This seems the ideal situation for him to explain his marital plans, while reairming his true devotion to her. After absenting himself from court, he allowed her to mourn in private and waited until she was ready to receive him again. He maintained correspondence with friends at court to gauge her reaction. On 18 June, Christopher Hatton wrote, ‘Since your Lordship’s departure the Queen is found in continual great melancholy. The cause 76 | The British Museum Citole thereof I can but guess at… She dreameth of marriage that might seem injurious to her.’21 Unfortunately for us, the letters Dudley wrote directly to Elizabeth during this period have not survived, but ten days later, Hatton was able to report that the queen had joyfully received Dudley’s letters, ‘because they chiely recorded the testimony of your most loyal disposition from the beginning to this present time… Her majesty thinketh your absence much drawn in too [great] length’.22 Dudley returned to court in late July, and there is no record of disharmony between the two. Indeed, Dudley was able to ofer unpleasant political advice to the queen, which few were able to do. Elizabeth, however, banished Lettice from court.23 The curious lack of contemporary documents reporting Elizabeth’s reaction to Dudley’s marriage supports the theory that Dudley told her in private, for everything seems to have been resolved privately without public scandal. Forty years later, the lack of public scandal seems to have perplexed Camden and he therefore invented his own. Instead, actions undertaken by all of the participants are completely in character for such a confession: Dudley absents himself from court and Elizabeth confesses to a common friend that she is troubled by a marriage. Later Elizabeth banishes Lettice from court and quietly continues as if nothing had changed. It is my theory that the citole, with its modiications dated to 1578, was another protagonist in this private exchange. As a gift from Dudley to Elizabeth, it demonstrated his humility and devotion to her. As a modernized antique, it symbolized the value of their long-standing relationship, while at the same time acted as a reassurance that Dudley’s devotion would continue despite the new relationship in his life. The citole as a gift In 1578, the citole was already 250 years old and was a rare and beautiful antique. The crowded surface decoration of the citole was characteristic of English art in the 14th century as well as in the 16th century, although there are strong stylistic diferences between the two periods. In Elizabeth’s time the fashion for surface decoration is manifest in portraiture, where every available space is occupied by embroidery, jewellery or some other garnish (see for example the ornamented fabrics in Pls 2–3). Many times such decoration carried meanings hidden in emblems, and Dudley, who used the oak tree as one of his emblems, would certainly have approved of the abundant use of oak leaves in the decoration of the citole. A musical instrument (known variously as a cymbalum decachordon, a bandora or an orpharion) built by the London maker John Rose in 1580 exhibits the same taste for surface decoration. The ingerboard and tailpiece on the citole share these stylistic characteristics. Portions of the soundboard of the Rose instrument are covered with small punched circles, just as on the ingerboard and tailpiece of the citole. Also, the abstract patterns on the Rose instrument are similar to those on the citole and on brocaded fabric in portraiture. For a culture that, in the words of Mary Hazard, admired ‘luxuriousness of material, curiosity of craftsmanship, and use for garnish’,24 the value of the citole as an object would be high. No record of the citole as a gift survives, but it its with the character of other gifts given to Elizabeth by Dudley. In the documented exchanges of the New Year’s gifts, Dudley often gave Elizabeth thoughtful and original presents. In 1580/1 he gave her a small clock on a bracelet, in efect the irst known wrist watch in England.25 In 1573/4, Dudley gave Elizabeth a fan which contained images from both of their badges to portray symbolically devotion and humility. The fan was of white feathers set in a golden handle, each side decorated with a rampant lion (to signify Elizabeth) with a bear (signifying Dudley) muzzled at its feet. In 1574/5 he gave her a doublet, which she later wore while sitting for a portrait commissioned by Dudley.26 At the legendary celebrations at Kenilworth in 1575, Dudley covered his gifts as well as the castle and garden with images of the bear and ragged staf.27 One gift in particular seems to carry more symbolic than practical signiicance. In 1579, Dudley’s nephew Philip Sidney angered Elizabeth by criticizing her relationship with her suitor, the Duke of Alençon. Dudley, implicated by his nephew’s actions, presented the queen with two golden bodkins adorned with ‘true-love knots and ragged staves’.28 Dudley could hardly expect Elizabeth to use the daggers herself, yet by giving them to her he was symbolically indicating his subservience and guilt.29 The true-love knots reasserted his devotion to her and the ragged staves further personalized the gift. By combining their crests on the citole, Dudley was raising his status. If, as suggested by John Hawkins and others, the citole was a gift from Elizabeth to Dudley, she would have been lowering her status by combining their crests. In her perceptive study of the relationship between Elizabeth and Dudley, Sarah Gristwood uses an episode from 1566 to illustrate how the two saw their relationship. Having been away from court, Dudley made arrangements to meet the queen upon his return to London. He arrived in splendour with a train of 700 people. Elizabeth, in contrast, was rowed upriver with two ladies in waiting. As Gristwood writes, ‘It was in his interest that as many people as possible should know that the Queen was coming to meet him. The Queen, by contrast, had no reason at all to broadcast the fact that she was meeting the Earl of Leicester; her private pleasure, her Robert Dudley.’30 When Elizabeth agreed to sit for a portrait that would be one of a pair with Dudley, she speciied that they both be facing the same direction rather than facing each other as couples were accustomed to do.31 While she made many allowances for her favourite, she was careful not to compromise her position. For this reason, it would be out of character for her to join their crests as a pair on the citole. To support the case further for the gift coming from Dudley, it should be noted that the citole does not appear in the well-known inventories of Henry VIII’s instruments, which Elizabeth presumably inherited, nor is it among the instruments in Dudley’s possession at Kenilworth and Leicester House at the time of his death. However, when mention of the citole appears, it is as part of the Dorset collection, a collection made up primarily of royal discards.32 The strained relationship between Dudley and Elizabeth in 1578 was a private matter. The fact that there was no overt outburst from Elizabeth at the news that her favourite was marrying someone else suggests that it had been resolved privately. Likewise the citole was never a public, recorded gift, though it survives with the crests and the date 1578 to indicate that it too was a participant in the quiet drama. A later incident, as public as this was private, further illustrates the value of gifts to mollify the queen. Their relationship reached a new low when Dudley went to the Netherlands in 1584. The campaign seemed doomed from the start: Elizabeth was unwilling to get involved in an overseas religious war and was secretly negotiating for peace even while allowing Dudley to take an ill-paid army to the Netherlands. Dudley felt strongly about defending the Protestant cause, and was welcomed like a prince by the people who wanted a strong leader. Cognisant of the delicacy of the situation, Dudley let negotiations continue for a week before accepting the title of ‘governor general’ and sending a messenger home to inform Elizabeth of the success of the campaign. Unfortunately, his messenger was delayed by the weather, and instead Elizabeth heard third hand that Dudley had accepted absolute power in the Netherlands and, to make matters worse, that his wife Lettice was ‘prepared presently to come over…with such a train of ladies and gentlewomen, and such rich coaches, litters and side-saddles, as her majesty had none such, and that there should be such a court of ladies, as should far pass her majesty’s court here.’33 Incensed, Elizabeth sent a bitter letter of rebuke: How contemptuously we conceive ourselves to be used by you… We could never have imagined…that a man raised up by ourself and extraordinarily favoured by us, above any other subject of this land, would have in so contemptible a sort broken our commandment… And therefore our express pleasure and commandment is that, all delays and excuses laid apart, you do presently of your allegiance obey and fulil whatever the bearer hereof shall direct you to do. Whereof fail you not, as you will answer the contrary at your uttermost peril.34 A lurry of letters crossed the channel in an attempt to smooth things over, including one letter from Dudley’s brother advising him not to return to England for fear of his life until the queen had been reconciled to him. Again, reconciliation seems to have come according to the common patterns, though it took a long time and had emotional costs: friends and councillors interceded, Dudley reasserted his devotion and then pleaded ill health. Not before, however, his servant gave him a piece of good advice: to write to the queen and ‘bestow some two or three hundred crowns in some rare thing for a token to her majesty’.35 Was the servant remembering a previous instance when Dudley was able to appease the queen’s anger with the gift of a rare thing? Conclusion In 1578, Dudley risked his relationship with Elizabeth by marrying Lettice Knollys. However, he apparently was able to placate the queen for there was no public scandal. So Dudley’s Penance | 77 often today, we have records of gifts, but the objects themselves have been lost. Here we have the opposite problem: an object that appears to have been a gift, but no corresponding record. I suggest that this gift was never recorded because it was part of a private reconciliation. I believe that Dudley chose to give Elizabeth this instrument at a time when he knew he risked her displeasure. He capitalized on its rarity and beauty, and used it to invoke memories of times they had danced to the music of a violin. A modernized antique, it symbolized the longevity of their relationship, which would continue despite the new changes. The citole was an emblem to say what words could not. Acknowledgements I would like to acknowledge the late Donna Cardamone Jackson, who taught the lively research seminar which resulted in the earliest version of this paper and began my propitious relationship with the British Museum citole. I would also like to thank Alice Margerum, Ben Hebbert and Dan Larson, each of whom participated in many delightfully stimulating citole conversations and helped me develop my thinking. Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 Hawkins 1776, vol. 2, 687. Kevin et al. 2008, 13 (Appendix A, this volume, p. 112). See Hebbert, this volume, pp. 61–72. Holman 1993, 30. Ibid., 71–7. Ibid., 87. Ibid., 89. Brown and Cavendish Bentinck 1890, vol. 7, 101. Lodge 1838, vol. 2, 386. Hume 1899, vol. 4, 650. 78 | The British Museum Citole 11 For example, on 17 November 1573, the Lord Chamberlain wrote to the Mayor of London, excusing the court musicians from service in a town oice which could potentially conlict with their duties at court. See Holman 1993,120. 12 Gairdner and Brodie 1898, vol. 4, 614. 13 Holman 1993, 123–6. 14 Wilson 2005, 249. 15 Quoted in Gristwood 2007, 19. 16 Cal. S.P. Ven., VII, 69. Quoted in Wilson 1981, 98. 17 Ellesmere MSS in Huntingdon Library. Quoted in Wilson 1981, 206–7. 18 Camden 1688, 232–3. 19 Wilson 1981, 207. 20 Hume 1894, vol. 2, 581. 21 Dudley Papers at Longleat, III, f. 190. Quoted in Wilson 1981, 229. 22 Dudley Papers at Longleat, III, f. 191. Quoted in Ibid., 230. 23 Wilson 2005, 316. 24 Hazard 2000, 79. 25 Nichols 1823, vol. 2, 300. 26 This portrait is now in the Reading Museum. Goldring 2005. 27 For examples of the bear and ragged staf on the castle and gardens, see Nichols 1823, Progresses vol. 1, 423, 473, 476. 28 Nichols 1823, vol. 2, 289. 29 My thanks to Ben Hebbert for this insight. 30 Gristwood 2007, 255. 31 Goldring 2005, 655. 32 Hawkins 1776, 687. The Dorset collection, kept at Knole House, Kent, is still renowned today for its collection of Stuart furniture. The collection of 17th-century furniture is the result of the eforts of two men: Lionel Cranield, the Earl of Middlesex, who was Lord Treasurer to James I, and his grandson Charles Sackville, who served William III as Lord High Chamberlain. Through their professional capacities and friendship with their monarchs, both men acquired royal discards. 33 Bruce 1844, 112. 34 Ibid., 110. The bearer of the letter had instructions for Dudley to make a public resignation of the government he had accepted. 35 Ibid., 113–14. Chapter 8 The British Museum Citole Blurring Boundaries Between the Visual and the Aural and the Fine and Decorative Arts Ann Marie Glasscock Highly decorated medieval and early modern musical instruments are a rarity, and although decoration is secondary to the purpose of an instrument, it reveals an important conjuncture between the aural and the visual. By ornamenting an instrument, through carving, painting or inlay, it blurs the boundaries between the object’s function and aim and has the power to transform it into a decorative work of art. But while a musical instrument can be understood as an object created to produce sound, how do we deine the decorative arts? Historically, there has been a divide between the decorative and the ine arts. The latter has been categorized to include paintings, sculpture and architecture – those arts whose function is to embody the beautiful and encourage contemplation. In contrast, the decorative arts comprised manual activities such as woodcarving, glassblowing, pottery, metalsmithing and weaving. In his 1785 essay ‘Preliminary ideas on the theory of ornament’, Karl Philipp Moritz discusses the decorative or mechanical arts from an aesthetic point of view, noting that they are commonly understood as objects whose purpose is utility while the goal of the ine arts is to please.1 However, he questions the distinction between the two and proposes that pleasure can be derived from both. In turn, decorative musical instruments have the power to combine art and function in their ability to please and emanate beauty through sight and sound. In this essay, four rare extant musical instruments, comprising the British Museum citole and three Italian stringed instruments, will serve as artefacts that have been transformed through their elaborate carving into sculptural objects, thus blurring the boundaries between the ine and the decorative arts. The irst instrument, the British Museum citole, is an embodiment of the useful and the beautiful. A plucked stringed instrument, the citole was popular in Europe from approximately 1200 to 1400 and may have been used as an accompaniment to songs, perhaps love ballads. The decoration on the citole is primarily rendered on the side panels, headstock and trefoil.2 The side panels are carved with a dense woodland scene illed with humans, animals, hybrids and wyverns (a dragon-like forest-dwelling creature with wings). Many of these igures are grouped together on the citole to create settings associated with the Labours of the Months. Frequently depicted in medieval visual arts, especially manuscript illuminations, the labours were a cycle of agricultural activities with symbolic undertones connected to the months and seasons of the year. A person pruning trees, for example, represented a prime occupation for the month of March, as seen on one of the citole’s side panels (Pl. 1). Trimming trees in the spring alluded to new growth, rebirth and fecundity. The scene could also represent November or December, and the igure with the axe may be interpreted as a man chopping down irewood for the winter months ahead. The feeding of pigs was also depicted as an appropriate labour for the colder months, November in particular. On the citole, a swineherd uses a long pole to knock acorns of an oak tree to feed the pigs below thus fattening them for the winter slaughter (Pl. 2).3 The pig is an icon of abundance, yet it also exempliied overindulgence and lust. The last month depicted on the citole is that of May. It is commonly associated with the hunt, or, similar in its The British Museum Citole | 79 Plate 1 Detail of the British Museum citole’s side panel showing a igure either pruning trees or chopping down irewood Plate 2 Detail of the British Museum citole’s side panel portraying a swineherd knocking acorns off an oak tree to feed the pigs below objective metaphorically, courting or courtly love. On one of the side panels, a hare (an archetypal symbol of female power and fertility) is being hunted by a hybrid creature (Pl. 3). The depiction of the hare just before it is pierced by the hunter’s arrow suggests in a broader sense man’s dominance. Additionally, the presence of the hybrid creature raises another duality, the idea of the fantastic versus the earthly. As discussed by Edward Alexander Jones, since hybrids are ‘inherently two bodies within a single corporeal boundary, they are neither one thing nor the other’.4 Moreover, scholars have related the forest (where the hybrids dwell) as not only a botanical phenomenon, but also as ‘the forest of love through which the lover will have to ind his way’.5 These complicated binaries perhaps are meant to represent the multifaceted dualities of love. Overall, the three labours represented on the citole may at irst be seemingly unrelated. However, the citole invites our intimate interaction and reveals a correlation between the purpose of the instrument, which was most probably to accompany love ballads, and the themes of the decorative carving which reveals a series of amorous and symbolic activities. The British Museum citole is an embodiment of 80 | The British Museum Citole love, providing pleasure and relecting the era’s prevailing style. While the citole is indeed unique, three other extant secular musical instruments dating from the 15th and 16th centuries can also be acknowledged as both decorative works of art and as instruments exhibiting a total visual impact of ornamentation and a veritable triumph of emotions and the senses. Possibly a bridal gift, the next instrument is a northern Italian mandora, or chitarino, made in Milan around 1420 (Pl. 4). The decorative carving on the back of the mandora depicts a man and woman standing arm in arm beneath a tree. A dog sits at the woman’s feet, perhaps acting as a symbol of idelity, and a falcon rests on the man’s arm, a sign of nobility and a metaphor of the lover, the lady or even love itself.6 The falcon could also be a sign of the man’s hunting role in the relationship, his future wife being the prey. Additionally, the man places his hand on his purse as if to indicate his masculinity and fecundity. Cupid, an allegory of love, hovers above the couple. Armed with his bow and arrow, he ires down at the woman and in turn startles the stag below. In 13th and 14th-century poetry, a stag was a metaphor for one who obediently ofered himself to his lover. The poet Lapo Gianni related the state of being in love to the outcome of a chase; the doe realizes that she will not escape and succumbs to the hunter, just as lovers capitulate to one another.7 Carved at the top of the neck, a igure holding a scroll stands above the couple as if to sanction their union and to add his blessing.8 On the front of the instrument surmounting the pegbox a female musician plays a gittern (Pl. 5). Here, as with the citole, we are enticed by the idea of courtly romance, hunting and the visual feast of carvings that elegantly encompass the surface area of the instrument. The mandora has brought together music and love, major components of a wedding celebration, and the instrument itself, if a bridal gift, combines the ideals of love and the courtship process. The third instrument, known as the Venus rebecchino, was made in Venice in the 15th century (Pl. 6). Named after the image of the goddess of love that is carved into the body, the nude igure has long, lowing hair and simply wears a pair of sandals and a necklace. The igural pegbox takes the form of a male head, and the side panels are carved with vines and grape clusters, the latter possibly referring to Plate 3 Detail of the British Museum citole’s side panel depicting a hare being hunted by a hybrid creature Bacchus, the Roman god of wine, who signiies love, fertility and virility. While the rebecchino does not exhibit a visual explosion of imagery, it illustrates the contribution made by musical instruments to the visual arts. Despite the Plate 4 (left) Mandora or chitarino, northern Italy, possibly Milan, c. 1420, boxwood, rosewood and bone, 36cm. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 64.101.1409 (© The Metropolitan Museum of Art/Art Resource/Scala, Florence) Plate 5 (above) Detail of the pegbox of the mandora (Pl. 4) The British Museum Citole | 81 Plate 6 Venus rebecchino, Venice, 15th century, pearwood, 37cm. Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna, inv. no. 433 Plate 7 Lira da braccio, by Giovanni d’Andrea, Verona, 1511, maple, spruce and ivory, 51 x 80.5cm. Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna, inv. no. 89 fact that the instrument is not complete (as the soundboard and ingerboard have not survived), ‘it is still considered a work of art and one of the few existing of its kind’.9 Its classiication as a work of art attests to its ability to blur the aural and the visual. The inal instrument is a lira da braccio carved by Giovanni d’Andrea in 1511 (Pl. 7). It may have been used either as a solo instrument or as part of an ensemble, probably played to accompany dances or the reciting of poetry. Poet-musicians, originating in Italy, were inluential in the courts and performed for elite circles.10 The most popular instrument of these musicians was the lira da braccio as it was used to accompany improvised recitations of lyric and narrative poetry. One of the few extant examples from the Renaissance, the decoration and construction of the lira da braccio in the Kunsthistorisches Museum is outstanding. The ingerboard is adorned with inlay in ivory, ebony and green-coloured horn, a technique favoured in northern Italy and known as certosina. The two strings projecting from the side of the instrument were employed as drones to strengthen the tone, while the ive running over the ingerboard were used for the melody. The overall shape of the lira has been designed to take the form of a nude igure – the idea of love and seduction again takes hold. In this case it is not just the subject matter, but also the form and tangibility of the lira as well as its smooth surface that invites us to feel and to touch. The front resembles a man, the pegbox a grotesque face and the soundboard a male torso. The reverse, however, takes the form of a female body, with a smiling face carved on the pegbox and the soundboard in the shape of a female torso with clearly rounded breasts and a navel. Superimposed over this, Giovanni d’Andrea has carved a bearded male visage. The carving of this mature character is perhaps meant to represent intellect, as this was a prerequisite for fully appreciating music, whether as a player or a listener.11 82 | The British Museum Citole Upon examining these four objects, it is clear that they are multifunctional. First and foremost, they were created to be musical instruments and their detailed carving transformed them into decorative works of art. Yet the instruments examined in this chapter are also embodiments of love and are cultural artefacts embedded with symbolic connotations. Indeed, as an object itself can be multifunctional so can its decoration, as noted by the scholar Christoph Rueger who proposes two objectives for the adornment of musical instruments: one he terms ‘showiness’, the other ‘stimulative’.12 Both suggest their own social and psychological undertones. For the former, he explains that certain instruments ‘were not only to be heard, but also had to impress without being played’.13 The decorations on the mandora, rebecchino, lira da braccio and the British Museum citole discussed in this chapter support this idea of showiness. The detailed craftsmanship not only enhances the importance of the instrument, but also draws attention to the owner’s status and taste. The second, stimulative, function of the decoration ‘was intended to inluence the player while enhancing the experience of the listener’.14 This allowed the instrument to be experienced on two levels that consisted of the sound and emotion of the music as well as the sight and emotion of the decoration. We must consider, however, that an audience would not have immediately seen most of the decoration on the four instruments described in this chapter. With regard to smaller instruments, the player or proprietor was the determinate in bringing the viewer’s attention to the object’s detailed visual components. Overall, the British Museum citole is one of few extant musical instruments of the late medieval period valued for these diverse experiential qualities, thus bringing it efortlessly into both the musical and the art-historical realm. A veritable labyrinth of beauty in which the eye loses itself, the citole is not unlike an expressive passage from Moritz’s theories on the decorative arts in which he describes the pilasters in the loggia on the second storey of the Papal Palace. Executed after designs by Raphael, the painted plasterwork depicts grotesques comprising lowers and foliated arabesques enlivened with animal and human forms. Relecting on the decoration, he writes: Nevertheless, even here everything still falls into a certain unity…in some of these combinations there is some sort of plan to be found – but much is the work of caprice, in which no interpretation is possible, and the quirks of the imagination simply spin on their own axis. This is the essence of decoration, which observes no law, because it has no purpose but that of giving pleasure.15 This excerpt reminds us that even where meaning and structure can be found, one also must allow for a bit of whimsy and exploration. I would argue, however, that decoration undeniably is multifunctional. In addition to giving pleasure, ornament relects the prevailing style and taste of the period and it forces the viewer to question categorization. The medieval and Renaissance instruments discussed here are not only musical instruments, they are sculptures and are evidence that music and art share a long history. As their use and context has shifted, they have become valued for their aesthetic purposes, craftsmanship and ingenuity. ‘It is not so much that we need the beautiful in order to delight in it: the beautiful needs us in order to be apprehended. We can survive perfectly well without looking at beautiful works of art; but they cannot well exist, as such, without us to look at them.’16 The beauty that emerges from the sculptural decoration carved on the British Museum citole, and the instruments from the Kunsthistorisches Museum and the Metropolitan Museum of Art, highlights that it is not only the ine arts, but also the decorative arts, which have the ability to please and to stimulate. Notes 1 Moritz 2000, 30. 2 Remnant 1986, 19. See also discussion by Phillip Lindley, this volume, pp. 1–8. This was indeed an anomaly considering that the most decorated parts of Renaissance English stringed instruments were usually the tailpiece, ingerboard and pegbox. 3 Another account of this action can be seen in the Luttrell Psalter c. 1325–35 (British Library, Add. 42130 f.59v), a manuscript made famous by numerous depictions of everyday life. It illustrates the task of a human igure in the margin actively engaged in this seasonal labour and attests to the commonality of this subject in art. 4 Jones 2004, 53. 5 Abraham 1963, 591. 6 Camille 1998a, 96. 7 Watson 1979, 38–9. 8 Camille 1998a, 104. 9 Kunsthistorisches Museum, Collection of Ancient Musical Instruments, Selected Masterpieces, http://www.khm.at/en/ collections/collection–of–ancient–musical–instruments/selected– masterpieces/. 10 The instrument was developed and cultivated chiely in Italy during the 15th and 16th centuries, and it appeared in other European countries only to the extent that Italian culture had an inluence. 11 Rueger 1986, 50 and 87. Additionally, the back includes a small ivory plaque placed towards the bottom of the lira, literally in the man’s beard. It includes a Greek inscription (‘ΛΥΠΗΣ ΙΑΤΡΟΣ ΕΣΤΙΝ ΑΝΘΡΩΠΟΙΣ ΩΔΗ’) which can roughly be translated as ‘Men have song as the physician of pain’ or ‘singing is medicine against human sufering’. It was perhaps a reference to the healing powers of music. 12 Rueger 1986, 12. He also mentions a third function that pertains to stationary musical instruments that serve as part of a room’s interior decoration. 13 Ibid. 14 Ibid., 13. 15 Moritz 2000, 262. 16 Ibid., 31. The British Museum Citole | 83 Chapter 9 Strings and Theories of Stringing in the Times of the Citole and Early Cittern John Koster 84 | The British Museum Citole The several aspects of stringing, including the materials of the strings, their density, tensile strength and elasticity, the relationship of their length and thickness to pitch and the correlation of these various factors to tone quality are important considerations in the design and use of musical instruments. The present study will explore these issues with reference to the medieval citole and its apparent descendant, the Renaissance cittern. In particular, it will consider the various string materials that were available at those times and will examine the physical laws of strings as they would have been understood by the makers of these instruments. In doing so the discussion will sometimes seem to stray quite far from the citole and cittern. In part, this is necessary because the evidence pertaining directly to these instruments themselves is sparse, especially for the citole. A wider viewpoint, however, is not just necessary, but is also appropriate. There were surely no citole makers per se, just artisans who made various diferent types of stringed instruments and who also, in the likelihood of being carvers or woodworkers in general, would have made a variety of other wooden objects. The skills and knowledge of an individual artisan would have been applied, as required, to all the diferent types of instruments and objects produced side by side. Furthermore, the traditions within which an individual worked would have been handed down through many generations of familial or master-pupil relationships, and many of the technologies developed for one type of instrument would have been applied to newer types as it became obsolescent. The purpose of this chapter is to assemble and consider the scattered evidence and, where possible, to construct a plausible historical model. Much of the argument is frankly speculative and, were it not stylistically awkward, should largely have been written in the subjunctive, with even more ample use of such qualiiers as ‘perhaps’, ‘presumably’ or ‘seemingly’. As medieval Europe inherited much of its technology and science from classical antiquity, it is useful to go far back in time to consider the origins of the traditions of instrument making within which the citole arose. Thus, for example, it is appropriate to consider the lyres played in the Germanic regions of northern Europe and in Britain from about the 6th century ad to the 10th or 11th century or so, of which the best known example (if not the best preserved) is from the early 7th-century ship burial at Sutton Hoo, now at the British Museum.1 These presumably were related directly or indirectly to the ancient Greek and Roman lyres, themselves stemming from older Mesopotamian or Egyptian traditions. Communications and trade in the ancient and medieval worlds were not as limited as one might think. Coptic vessels were interred at Sutton Hoo. A bronze Hindu idol (now in the Historiska Museet, Stockholm) reached Viking Scandinavia and runic inscriptions have been found in Hagia Sophia in Istanbul.2 Similarly, Indian and Persian lutes reached Japan in the 8th century3 and Arabic manuscripts discuss strings of silk that must have come from China. Further, if the past is a foreign country, then sometimes a foreign country is the past. For example, the bowed lyres played in the Baltic region into the 20th century most likely stemmed from the Germanic lyre tradition, while the plucked lyres still played in East Africa are presumably closely related to those of ancient Egypt. All of these factors are potential sources of information about how the makers and players of medieval Germanic lyres may have strung their instruments and consequently how citoles may have been strung by their successors. Similar evidence could be derived from other instruments, including harps, lutes and zithers. The physical characteristics of strings and how they vibrate can be understood or expressed in various ways, ranging from the subjective and qualitative to the objective and quantitative. Although a comprehensive mathematical expression of the vibration of strings (incorporating, for example, the efect of elasticity on tone quality) was not devised until the 20th century, the physical theory of strings has been expressed mathematically – in other words quantitatively – since the time of the legendary Pythagoras in the 6th–5th centuries bc. Exposition of the traditional Pythagorean laws of strings was a common component of medieval and Renaissance treatises on music theory, and in all periods it is likely that current theories of the physics of strings were factored in to the actual instrument-making practice. In medieval and Renaissance Europe this would have come about directly through the participation of so-called learned constructors,4 scholars knowledgeable about the theory who in one way or another participated in making musical instruments or at least in overseeing their design. A prime late medieval example of such a person was Henry Arnault of Zwolle, who around 1440 produced his well-known treatise on the design of keyboard instruments and the lute.5 Knowledge or techniques originally devised by such persons would have been transmitted to the artisans assisting them in making instruments and then passed down from the artisan to succeeding generations of artisans. These would have been oral traditions, as most artisans were more than likely illiterate. The physics of vibrating strings is universal, but the scientiic understanding of how strings function was signiicantly lawed until comparatively modern times, that is until the time of Galileo Galilei (1564–1642) and Marin Mersenne (1588–1648). Equations based on actual experiments rather than ancient authority were published by Mersenne in 1637, anticipating Galileo’s own publication of the following year.6 The ancient Pythagorean theory that was current until then is nicely summarized in an 11thcentury treatise known by its opening words, Desiderio tuo ili, found in a 13th-century manuscript probably written in Liège. It sets out the following principles: [1] If two similar and equal strings are stretched by unequal weights, the pitches are proportional to the weights. [2] If two similar strings unequal only in length are stretched by equal weights, the pitches will be proportional to the lengths. [3] If two similar strings unequal only in magnitude [grossitudine] are stretched by the same weights, the pitches will be proportional to the magnitudes. Therefore I have said ‘similar strings’, for if the strings were of diferent types, such as one of metal, the other of sinew, the proportions of the pitches will not correspond to the proportions of the weights. These are the principles of instrumental music. According to the preceding reasoning, other instruments have been discovered, both those that sound by the impulses of wind and those by percussion. [4] That is, likewise, if two similar pipes are unequal only in length, the pitches will be proportional to the lengths. [5] If two equal pipes are unequal only in [cross-sectional] area [amplitudine], the proportion of the pitches will be as area to area. However, the proportion of area to area is as diameter to diameter in duplicate proportion [i.e., as the square of diameter to diameter]. [A discussion about bells and other idiophones follows.] 7 Of the irst three laws which pertain to strings, the second is the least problematic as it is not erroneous. It means, for example, that to get a pitch an octave higher one would halve the string length, to get a fourth higher one would take three-quarters the length, two-thirds for a ifth and so on. This is the basis of so-called Pythagorean scaling, as eventually applied, for example, to harpsichords in which the strings double in length at each octave. The irst law is the erroneous theory of tension that was current until rectiied by Galileo. It states that to raise the pitch of a string by some interval, one would increase the weight stretching the string by the Pythagorean ratio of that interval. Thus, for example, two equal strings would sound a fourth apart if one of them were stretched by a three-pound weight and the other by a four-pound weight. Galileo discovered by experiment, however, that for the desired results you actually have to raise the tension by the square of the traditional Pythagorean ratios. Thus, for an octave four to one, not two to one; for a fourth, sixteen to nine, not four to three. The old erroneous law can be expressed mathematically by stating that frequency varies directly according to tension, while the correct relation is that it varies according to the square root of the tension. This, however, was mainly of theoretical interest, as no one, even today, tunes an instrument by measuring the tensions of the strings. In Desiderio tuo ili it is the third law, pertaining to the thicknesses of strings, which would have been of practical signiicance in stringing actual instruments. The word grossitudo (here translated as ‘magnitude’) deserves comment. If one were to assume that it meant diameter, then the law would be correct, in that, all else being equal, frequency varies inversely according to diameter. However, grossitudo in this context almost certainly meant ‘magnitude’ in the sense of the size of a string measured according to its crosssectional area.8 This interpretation is supported by the treatise’s ifth law, which is essentially its third law of strings applied to organ pipes. Medieval music theorists routinely treated the laws of strings and pipes together as equivalent to each other in order to demonstrate the universal nature of the Pythagorean ratios.9 For organ pipes, it is carefully explained in the ifth law that the amplitudo, which is clearly analogous to the grossitudo of strings, is proportional to the square of the diameter. (That this ifth law is completely incorrect for organ pipes is not of concern to the present discussion.) Thus, grossitudo, like amplitudo, must mean cross-sectional area, with which the third law of strings is Strings and Theories of Stringing in the Times of the Citole and Early Cittern | 85 incorrect. Applying it, for example, to lower the pitch by an octave while maintaining the same tension, one would double the cross-sectional area of the string (at the same time doubling its volume and weight). According to the physically correct understanding introduced by Galileo, one would have to quadruple the cross-sectional area (also quadrupling the string’s weight and volume, but only doubling its diameter); to lower the pitch by a fourth one would increase the cross-sectional area by the ratio of sixteen to nine, the square of the Pythagorean ratio 4 to 3 by which one would increase the area according to the older theory expounded in Desiderio tuo ili. Unlike organ pipes, the diameters of which were readily visible and could be measured and compared with common tools in visibly perceptible units down to, for example, something on the order of a twelfth of an inch, there was not until the 17th century at the earliest any tool available to measure the minute diameters of strings. All that string makers or users could do to specify and compare their sizes was to weigh them or to count the number of strands of organic material twisted together to make an individual string.10 Both methods are equivalent to dealing with the cross-sectional area. Even the 17th-century scientists who developed the modern understanding of the physics of strings comprehended the size of strings in terms of the number of strands, cross-sectional area and weight: Marin Mersenne observed that the large strings in theorboes and bass viols, made of 48, 50 or 60 strands, were four or ive times larger than the 12-strand gut string used for tennis racquets.11 Similarly, Galileo, discussing strings in general, whether made of gut or metal, compared their size (grossezza12) in terms that can only mean cross-sectional area, as if this was the normal manner of thinking that it undoubtedly was.13 Galileo did not count the strands of gut, a procedure that in any case could not have been applied to metal strings. Rather, as he explained: ... of the three methods for sharpening a tone, the one which you refer to as the ineness of the string should be attributed to its weight. So long as the material of the string is unchanged, the size and weight vary in the same ratio [that is, because the cubic volume of a cylindrical string varies directly according to its cross-sectional area]. Thus in the case of gut-strings, we obtain the [lower] octave by making one string 4 times as large as the other; so also in the case of brass one wire must have 4 times the size of the other; but if now we wish to obtain the octave of a gut-string, by the use of brass wire, we must make it, not four times as large, but four times as heavy as the gut-string: as regards size therefore the metal string is not four times as big but four times as heavy.14 Although there is very little direct evidence of medieval stringing practice from Europe itself, there is considerable evidence from other areas which, one can surmise, had deep historical connections with the western European traditions that gave rise to the citole and cittern. The section on music in the encyclopedia produced by the Ikhwān al-Safā (Brethren of Purity) in Basra (Iraq) in the 10th century speciied the stringing of the ‘ūd (the Islamic predecessor of the European lute) with four courses tuned in fourths: the lowest string should consist of 64 threads of silk twisted together, the next string 48, then 36 and 27.15 Thus, each 86 | The British Museum Citole successive string, according to the classic 3:4 ratio of the fourth, had three-fourths the number of strands of the previous lower string, that is, with three-fourths the crosssectional area. An equivalent method, described by an 11th-century Cairo musician Ibn al-Tahhān, was that each next string of the ‘ūd, from highest to lowest, should weigh one third more than the previous.16 Calculating the relative tensions generated by these methods, one inds that the tension on the top course is more than twice that on the lowest course. The technology of silk strings must have arisen in the Far East, and, indeed, there are similar schemes of counting threads for the strings of the Chinese qin (a type of zither) according to the ratios of the intervals: 108, 96, 81, 72, 64, 54 and 48 for open strings corresponding to C, D, F, G, A, c and d.17 Again, the tension on the highest pitch string would be more than twice that on the lowest string. Horsehair has also been used to make strings in various cultures. It has been reported that the two strings of the morin khuur, the Mongolian horse-headed iddle, a fourth apart in pitch, are made from 130 stallion hairs and 105 mare’s hairs.18 The latter number is fairly close to the 98 (rounded up from 97.5) that one would expect from taking three-quarters of 130, and, under the assumption that mares’ hairs are somewhat thinner than stallions’, might result in a string close to three-quarters the cross-sectional area of the larger string. If so, the tension on the lower pitch thicker string would be three-quarters of that on the higher pitch thinner string. A similar method of making horsehair strings with the number of strands varying according to the ratios of the intervals is evident in several bowed lyres collected in Scandinavia and the Baltic region in the 19th century.19 Although the original tunings are not known with certainty, the strings seem often to have been tuned in ifths.20 The two surviving strings of 36 and 24 hairs on a three-stringed instrument are exactly in the ratio of a ifth, 3:2. The strings of 31, 22 and 15 hairs on another example are fairly close to the appropriate ratios for the second and third strings to be a ifth and an octave above the irst. Although these 19thcentury instruments come from a rather remote part of Europe, they, like the Welsh crwth (also a type of bowed lyre), presumably represent a branch of the Germanic lyre tradition stemming from the early Middle Ages. To judge from written sources, strings were rarely made of silk or horsehair in the vicinity and period of the citole when gut was the predominant string material of organic origin.21 Gut strings are made from individual strands of membrane, but since these were much more substantial than silk or horsehair the counts are much lower. These too were counted according to the musical ratios: the 9th-century philosopher al-Kindī, living in Baghdad, wrote of gut strings the size of 1, 2, 3 and 4 strands for the four courses of the ‘ūd (although the smaller two sizes were actually made of silk amounting to the equivalent thicknesses).22 That strands of gut were counted to make strings in Europe in the period of the citole is shown by a brief treatise, Ad faciendum cordas lire (‘To make strings for the “lyre”’) found in several 14th and 15th-century English manuscripts instructing one, after preparing the membranes, to ‘join two or three or four together according to the quantity that you wish to have’.23 Although Christopher Page has suggested that the lira for which these strings were intended might have been the harp, the intended meaning of the term may well be indicated by a note over a drawing of a citole in a 14th-century manuscript stating that ‘lira ... est sitola’.24 In any case, the gut strings of the same manufacture would have been used for all gutstrung instruments. If one allows for the likelihood that strings were also made from a single strand, as they certainly were in later centuries,25 and perhaps more than four strands for instruments other than the lira, whatever instrument it was, the sizes of strings according to their strand counts, could be chosen according to the most common musical ratios: the octave 2:1, ifth 3:2, fourth 4:3, major third 5:4, minor third 6:5 and major sixth 5:3.26 That strings made from one to six strands of gut would be serviceable in small stringed instruments like the citole is suggested by sizes of gut strings listed in documents dating from the 17th century to the early 19th century: strings made from two to eight strands were used for the D, A and E of the violin, similar sizes were used for the upper courses of guitars and other plucked instruments, and strings of one strand were available for harps.27 While the strand counts of ine silk or horsehair could be made to conform exactly to the musical ratios, some rounding of would at times have been necessary with the single digit numbers counted for gut strands. For example, the six strings of Germanic lyres were tuned, as described (under the name cithara) by Hucbald of St Amand (died 930), with a semitone between the third and fourth strings and whole tones between the other pairs, i.e., to a scale like C D E F G A,28 overall with a major sixth (ratio 5:3 in just intonation or 27:16 in Pythagorean tuning) between the two outer strings. These instruments might have been strung with the two lowest strings of ive strands, middle strings of four strands and upper strings of three strands. The strand counts of the irst and sixth strings would be in the exact ratio, as would those of the third and sixth, while the rest would necessarily be somewhat compromised. Alternatively, with diferent compromises, strings of two, three and four strands might have been used. The strings for a three-course citole tuned in fourths might have been made of two, three and four strands. There has been much talk in recent years about equal tension stringing for Baroque violins, viols and other ‘early’ stringed instruments (but hardly early from the perspective of citoles).29 By the second half of the 17th century, after the scientiic work of Galileo and Mersenne and the development of covered strings for the bass, it was possible to achieve equal tension. In theory this makes a certain amount of mechanical and acoustical sense, in that the stresses on the structure of an instrument would be balanced from bass to treble and that the energy required to activate the strings and the energy then emitted by the strings as sound would be even throughout the range from lowest to highest notes. Instrument makers and players of earlier periods, including the European Middle Ages and Renaissance, might likewise have intended to string their instruments with equal tension, but in doing so by applying the laws of strings of their own period they would have obtained very diferent results. As already mentioned, choosing strings by counting the number of strands or the equivalents of weighing them or measuring their crosssectional areas according to the musical ratios results in uneven tensions, and were much higher for the higher-pitch strings. Thus, one would expect the trebles to have been louder than the basses. The expectations of medieval musicians and listeners for balance between bass and treble might have been quite diferent from those of later centuries. Signiicant in this context is that medieval organ pipes were often made with the same diameter from bass to treble, with which there must have been a similar disparity of loudness. With equal tension stringing, the diameters vary considerably from treble to bass, as they double for each lower octave. With strings chosen according to the earlier theory relating to the cross-sectional area, the diferences are more moderate, with diameters for each lower octave increasing by the square root of two (1.414...). That the diameters of medieval strings did not vary so greatly within an instrument can be inferred from the nicks in bridges to guide the strings. The nicks in the fairly numerous bridges that have survived from Germanic lyres appear not to vary greatly if at all in size from the irst to the last.30 Thus, while they could probably accommodate strings varying in diameter by 30 percent (as would be the case with strings made from three to ive strands of gut), they may not have been able to carry strings varying by the 70 percent required for equal tension stringing over the interval of a major sixth. Much the same can be gathered from the bridges of other medieval instruments.31 According to Le Bon Berger, written by Jehan de Brie in 1379, citoles were among the many instruments strung in gut.32 This treatise on ovine husbandry, however, might have been more promotional than descriptive of actual practice. It is conceivable that citoles, or at least some of them, were strung in metal. Certainly this was the case with the four-course ‘cetula’ described in Johannes Tinctoris’s De inventione et usu musicae (Naples, c. 1481–3).33 This Renaissance cittern, presumably developed out of the medieval citole, had ‘four brass or steel strings’ (‘quatuor enee vel calibe chorde’; this probably meant that some of the strings in an instrument were of brass while others were steel). The earliest known reference to metal strings is in the deinition of ‘similar strings’ in the 11th-century Desiderio tuo ili, quoted above (see p. 85). Although this is a theoretical treatise, it hardly seems likely that metal strings would have been mentioned if they were not in actual use making musical tones, both in the monochord as an instrument of musical science and in instruments made for musical performance. From about the same time as Desiderio tuo ili, wire of various metals including brass and silver as well as the drawplates necessary to make it have been found at Viking sites in Scandinavia.34 The drawplate was also described in the well-known early 12th-century treatise by Theophilus, De diversis artibus.35 All this evidence is from continental Europe, but an Irish work, Colloquy of the Ancients (Acallam na Senórach), compiled in the late 12th century, mentions a three-stringed cruit (presumably a lyre) with an iron string, another of bronze and the third of silver.36 If this is not just literary symbolism, metal strings of diferent densities might have been used for diferent pitches, with the weights of the Strings and Theories of Stringing in the Times of the Citole and Early Cittern | 87 Plate 1 English Zitterlein, from Michael Praetorius, Syntagma musicum II, De Organographia (Wolfenbüttel, 1619), pl. XVI (detail) strings arranged according to the Pythagorean ratios of the pitches. The Irish custom of using strings of ‘bronze’ (aeneis) on the harp (cithara) and timpán (tympanum) rather than ones of ‘hide’ (i.e. gut) was mentioned in the Topographia Hibernica, written in about 1187 by Giraldus Cambrensis (Gerald of Wales).37 From the middle of the 13th century there is evidence that psalteries were strung in metal, as the encyclopedic De proprietatibus rerum by Bartholomaeus Anglicus (c. 1200–72) stated speciically that their ‘strings are best made of brass [auricalco] and even silver’.38 In this early period, the small quantities of wire used for the strings of musical instruments might have been drawn by the same artisans who made the instruments themselves. Such objects as buckets and tankards made of carefully joined wooden staves and bronze ittings indicate that craftsmen skilled in fashioning wood and metal worked in close proximity.39 If the contents of a late Viking Age (approximately 11th-century) chest of wood- and metalworking tools (including two drawplates) found in Mästermyr, Gotland (now in the Historiska Museet, Stockholm), can be taken as a guide, the metal- and woodworker might often have been one and the same person.40 Possibly, then, in a workshop where lyres were formed from blocks of wood and their decorative metal ittings were fabricated, metal began sometimes to be used for strings. There is some evidence that the metal strings on the robustly constructed medieval Irish, or better, Gaelic harps (such as the ‘Queen Mary’ and ‘Lamont’ harps in the National Museum of Scotland, Edinburgh) were quite thick, perhaps half a millimetre or more in diameter.41 Similarly thick strings could also have been used on psalteries. For instruments like citoles, however, thinner strings might have been more appropriate. The technology of wire drawing 88 | The British Museum Citole seems to have undergone signiicant development by the second half of the 14th century, when clavichords and harpsichords were irst developed. These instruments require thin iron or brass strings, drawn down to a ifth of a millimetre or less. The earliest references to the clavichord, under the name echiquier, are associated with England in the 1360s.42 Evidently, the craft of wire drawing, formerly just one aspect of the more general trades of metalworking and of silver- or goldsmithing, had already undergone some specialization in certain places: one Ralph de Notingham was listed as a wire drawer in York in 1300.43 After about 1400, the great centre of wire drawing in Europe was Nuremberg, where the drawing of iron and brass wire was divided into several separate trades using diferent tools to draw wire successively to diferent stages of ineness. Water power was used to draw rods into thick wire, then heavy duty capstans, followed by lighter capstans.44 At the end of this last stage, the wire was about half a millimetre or so in diameter, useful for binding blades to handles or bristles to brushes and for making pins, needles and cards for processing wool. Wires of this grade, whether made in Nuremberg or elsewhere, could have been used for instruments such as psalteries and Gaelic harps. By about 1370 a new specialized wire-drawing trade, that of the Scheibenzieher (the ine wire-drawer), appeared in Nuremberg.45 This probably came about because of the rising demand for the ine wire used in the newly developed keyboard instruments, although it was also used for such ordinary products as scouring brushes. As there was great continuity in the Scheibenzieher’s trade, which had been conducted over centuries by members of the same families, one can infer from surviving wire made by the Scheibenzieher in the 18th century that they took as their raw material the end product of the old wire-drawing trades, that is wire about 0.55mm thick, which was eventually called gauge zero. The Scheibenzieher drew it one pass iner and called that gauge one; a second pass produced gauge two, and so on eventually to gauge 12, about 0.15mm in diameter. To judge from surviving 18th-century wire, the standard was that each pass should elongate the wire by one-quarter, with a corresponding reduction of the cross-sectional area.46 Thus each gauge was about nine-tenths the diameter of the preceding one. One could plausibly suggest that this standardization of gauge numbers and sizes arising directly from the inherent technological circumstances was in place throughout the entire period, dating back to the origins of the Scheibenzieher’s trade. Although the trade of ine wiredrawing is documented in Nuremberg only in the last decades of the 14th century, the appearance of keyboard instruments requiring such wire a decade or two earlier indicates that at least small quantities were already being drawn, if not yet in the larger quantities justifying the establishment of a specialized trade. It is therefore conceivable that ine wire might have even been available in the irst half of the 14th century, when the British Museum citole was made. It happens that the earliest known use of the Nuremberg gauges for ine wire is the stringing scheme given by Michael Praetorius in 1619 for the English Zitterlein (Pl. 1).47 This type of Renaissance cittern, of which an instrument in the National Music Museum, Vermillion (South Dakota) (Pl. 2), is thought to be the only surviving example, is the closest in size to that of the medieval citole. Praetorius’s gauge numbers for the four courses seem to have been chosen so that their ratios would be the closest available approximations of the musical ratios of the intervals between the courses. Thus, for example, if one begins with gauge 11 for the irst course, nominally tuned to g2, then for the second course, tuned to d2, a fourth lower, one would multiply 11 by the appropriate ratio of 3:4, obtaining 8¼, which would be rounded to gauge 8. Similarly, for the fourth course tuned to f2, a tone below the irst course, one would multiply 11 by the musical ratio of 8:9, obtaining 97/9, which would be rounded to gauge 10. For these calculations (which would have been done by the ubiquitous Rule of Three by which proportional values were reckoned 48), one necessarily inverts the musical ratios, conventionally applied to string lengths which become longer as the pitch is lower but here applied to wire gauges numbers that are lower for the heavier strings. (That is, to lengthen the g2 string to sound d2, one would multiply by four-thirds, while with the gauge numbers one would multiply by three-fourths). That one could easily become confused in doing this inversion perhaps explains Praetorius’s speciication of gauge 5 for the third course, tuned to a1. The string-length ratio between a1 and g2 is obtained by multiplying the ratio of the whole tone between g2 and a2, 8:9, by that of an octave, 2:1. Then one would take the inverse of this, 9:16, and apply it to gauge 11 of the irst course, obtaining 63/16, which would be rounded down to gauge 6. If, however, one mistakenly multiplied 8:9 by 1:2 (instead of 2:1), one obtains 4:9, which, applied to gauge 11, results in 48/9, to be rounded up to gauge 5. The diferences between 9:16 and 4:9 or between 6 and 5 are small enough that the error would not immediately be obvious.49 It happens that the gauge numbers for the English Zitterlein reported by Praetorius, which as proposed here seem to have been determined by varying the gauge numbers according to the musical ratios, result in more or less equal tensions among the four courses, especially with the correction of gauge 5 to gauge 6 for the third course (see Table 1). If, as proposed above, the standard Nuremberg wire-gauge system already existed in the 15th century, the calculations with gauge numbers might well have been applied to the wire-strung four-course cetula described by Johannes Tinctoris in the early 1480s. Whether, as is conceivable, it was applied a century and a half before to the citole is another question, perhaps best studied by experimentation with modern reconstructions of the instrument. A remaining factor to consider is the relationship among string material, string length and pitch. Thomas Morley, in A Plaine and Easie Introduction to Practicall Musicke (1597), observed that if one should ‘take an instrument, as a Lute[,] Orpharion, Pandora, or such like, being in the naturall pitch, and set it a note or two lower[,] it wil go much heavier and duller, and far from that spirit which it had before’.50 Similarly, Marin Mersenne noted that ‘if strings of the same material are diferent in length, the one that is longer and tuned in unison with the shorter yields a more pleasant [ plus Plate 2 Small cittern, English, 16th century (label readable as Petrus Rautta / Anno Domini [15]79). National Music Museum, Vermillion, South Dakota, Arne B. and Jeanne F. Larson Fund, 2007, cat. no. NMM 13500 doux] tone’.51 Doubtless such qualitative judgments of the tone quality of strings had long been made, as is evident from Johannes Aegidius de Zamora’s remark, written about 1270, that ‘insofar as strings are drier [he was speaking of gut] and more stretched, the sounds are more ample’,52 and from Boethius’ comment in the 6th century that lax strings do not vibrate as long as taut ones.53 Consequently, it can generally be assumed that instruments were designed to be strung and tuned so that their strings were stressed as nearly as practicable to their breaking point, that is, they were tuned to as high a pitch as possible. In instruments like citoles, citterns, violins and lutes, this principle is applicable mainly to the irst, highest pitch course. If one knows the length, density and tensile strength of the string material, the pitch to which an instrument was designed to be tuned can be estimated. For the British Museum citole, the original string length, depending on diferent possible bridge positions, could have ranged from about 30 to 40cm. Perhaps the most plausible estimate would be approximately 32cm, similar to that of Baroque violins. Under the assumption that gut strings of the same quality as that used from the 16th to 19th centuries were available in the 14th century, then the top course of the citole could have been tuned as high as about modern d-sharp2. (With other bridge positions, this pitch and the following estimates for the pitches possible with other string materials would have ranged from about a semitone higher for the 30cm length to a major third lower for 40cm.) If, however, metal strings were used, the pitch would have been rather lower. With brass strings comparable to those used in harpsichords from the 16th to 18th centuries, the top course, with the 32cm length, could have been tuned to about a modern a1. If iron wire was used, as it was in the late 15th century cetula described by Tinctoris, a top course of this Strings and Theories of Stringing in the Times of the Citole and Early Cittern | 89 Table 1 Table of English Zitterlein stringing according to wire gauges speciied in Michael Praetorius, Syntagma musicum II, De Organographia (Wolfenbüttel, 1619), 55 Course Pitch Gauge Diameter (mm*) Relative tension† 1 g2 11 0.160 1.00 2 d2 8 0.225 1.20 3 a1 (or b-lat1)‡ 5§ 0.315 1.33 (1.50) 3 a1 (or b-lat1)‡ 6¶ 0.280 1.05 (1.18) 4 f2 10 0.180 1.00 *Interpretation of the Nuremberg gauges principally after G. O’Brien, ‘Criteria for the determination of original stringing in historical keyboard instruments’. †If brass wire were used for the third course, the tensions would be about 9% higher. ‡Praetorius gives alternative tunings of the third course. §Erroneous? ¶Corrected gauge number suggested by the author. length could have been tuned somewhat higher, to about modern c2. It is possible that such a precious instrument as the British Museum citole was designed for strings of precious metal, silver or gold. With either, the pitch could have been substantially lower than that possible with brass wire. The choice of string material also afects the practicable diference in pitch between the highest and lowest courses. The medieval Islamic ‘ūd and European lute, with as many as ive courses tuned in fourths, show that open strings of equal length could, if strung in gut or silk, span a compass of an octave and a sixth. Later lutes of six or more courses spanned even larger compasses with plain gut strings. The compasses possible with plain metal strings are much more limited. From the scaling of various instruments strung in brass and iron, including the early Gaelic harps, Henry Arnault’s mid-15th century designs for a keyed dulce melos, 16th- and 17th-century harpsichords and 18th-century English ‘guittars’, one can infer that for instruments strung in plain wire the compass of open strings of equal length could span only an octave, possibly a note or two more if the upper strings were iron, the lower of brass.54 The compass of wire-strung instruments could be extended by the use of twisted strings (i.e. two equal strings twisted around each other, like the hitch-pin loop of a harpsichord string extended along its entire length, and not a cover wrapped around a core).55 The greater lexibility of two thin twisted strands in comparison with that of a thick plain wire of the same cross-sectional area allows a twisted string to be tuned to a lower pitch without sounding false: thick plain strings tend to sound like clanging rods, with inharmonic overtones. The irst known documented use of twisted strings in musical instruments is in Breve et facile instruction poure apprendre la tablature ... le cistre, published by Adrian le Roy and Robert Ballard in Paris in 1565. According to their instructions, one string of the three in each of the third and fourth courses of their four-course cittern, tuned to a, g, d1, e1, was twisted (tortiliée), as can be seen in their accompanying woodcut (Pls 3–4). These twisted strings were tuned an octave lower, i.e., to A and G, thereby extending the overall compass of the instrument’s open strings to an octave and a sixth. Twisted wire was certainly made much earlier than the 16th century for decorative and possibly other purposes: among the Viking Age inds at Haithabu is a coil of relatively ine twisted brass wire.56 Available as it was, such wire might occasionally have been used in musical instruments long before the 16th century. The meagre available evidence suggests that the open strings of citoles and other medieval plucked instruments were tuned in intervals of fourths, ifths and octaves, that is, not with whole tones between certain courses, as was common in Renaissance citterns like those described by Tinctoris and by Le Roy and Ballard.57 Thus, the British Plate 3 Cistre, from Le Roy and Ballard, Breve et facile instruction pour apprendre la tablature...le cistre (Paris, 1565) Plate 4 Detail of Pl. 3, showing twisted strings in the two lower courses 90 | The British Museum Citole Museum citole, in its probable original state with six strings arranged in three courses,58 would have had a minimum open-string compass of a seventh if it was tuned in fourths between courses or a maximum compass of a twelfth if it was tuned with an octave and a ifth. Unfortunately for deinitive conclusions, the string-making technologies available in the early 14th century would have allowed gut or wire to be used for any of the tunings in this range of compasses. Doubtless much could be learned by trying the diferent possibilities, including the use of silver or twisted wire for the lowest courses, on modern reconstructions of citoles and other instruments of the Middle Ages. For both metallic and gut stringing, however, it would be appropriate to follow the ubiquitous ancient law that the cross-sectional areas or weights of strings of diferent pitches should conform to the Pythagorean ratio of interval between those pitches. Whatever the material, this will have signiicant bearing on the acoustical balance among the courses and consequently on suitable performance technique. Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 An up-to-date summary about these instruments by M. BruceMitford is in Sadie and Tyrrell 2001, s.v., ‘Rotte (ii)’. See also Werner 1954, vol. 1, 9–15; Crane 1972, 10–14; and Homo-Lechner 1996, 78–89. The beautifully preserved Germanic lyre discovered in Trossingen in 2001–2 is described in Theune-Großkopf 2010. See http://members.ozemail.com.au/~chrisandpeter/relics/ relics.html#Graitti in Hagia Sophia (accessed 27 November 2011). See Hayashi 1975, foldout 1, between 128–9. This term is adopted from Dohrn-van Rossum 1996, 180. In the original German edition, Die Geschichte der Stunde: Uhren und moderne Zeitordnungen (Vienna, 1992), 170, the term is ‘gelehrte Konstrukteure’. Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, ms. latin 7295. Facsimile in le Cerf and Labande 1932. See also J. Koster, ‘Arnaut de Zwolle, Henri’, in Sadie and Tyrrell 2001. Mersenne 1636–7, vol. 3, 123–6 (Livre Troisiesme des Instrumens à chordes, prop. VII); Galilei 1638, 99–101. The irst actual experiments leading to the correct understanding of strings, however, were actually done by Galileo’s father, Vincenzo Galilei, who reported his analysis most clearly in an unpublished treatise, Dicorso particolare intorno alla diversita delle forme del diapason, written about 1589. A transcription and translation is in Palisca 1989a, 180–97. Translation by the author. The original text, from Rome, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, ms. Barb. Lat. 283, is in Smits van Waesberghe 1981), 12–29 (available online at TML (www.music. indiana.edu/tml/9th-11th/ADETRA_TEXT.html). The passage translated here is also found in Sachs 1980, vol. 2, 62. The dating and provenance of the manuscript are by Smits van Waesberghe, who attributed the treatise to Adalbold, Bishop of Utrecht (died 1026). This attribution, however, is disputed in Bragard 1987, 5–29. The theory expounded in Desiderio tuo ili was doubtless derived directly or indirectly from ancient Greek and Roman theory. The most thorough surviving classical exposition of the theory of strings, written in the 2nd century ad, is in Claudius Ptolemy’s Harmonics, Book I, chapter 11 (translated in Barker 1989, 298–301), which states that the pitches of strings are proportional to their thickness. Ptolemy’s word for ‘thickness’ is περιοχή, which can ambiguously mean ‘circumferance’, ‘contents’, or ‘mass’. If Ptolemy had meant ‘circumference’, which is directly related to the more obvious measurement of diameter, it would be diicult to explain why he did not just use that term. Signiicantly, in Boethius’ 6th-century De institutione musica, which summarized the works of Ptolemy and other authorities and became the principal source of traditional music theory in the Middle Ages, the Latin word used for this quality of a string is crassitudo (Book I, chapter XI), with meanings including ‘thickness’, ‘coarseness’, or ‘density’, essentially equivalent to those of the cognate word grossitudo. 9 See Sachs 1973, 87–100. 10 That this was done already in antiquity can be inferred from the late 1st- or early 2nd-century Harmonikon encheiridion of Nicomachus who, expounding the Pythagorean laws of strings, speciied that equal strings should consist of an equal number of strands. The passage is translated in Barker 1989, 257. 11 Mersenne 1636–7, facs. reprint, vol. 3, 3 (Livre premier des Instrumens à chordes, prop. II). 12 The original Italian text is available online at http://www. liberliber.it/mediateca/libri/g/galilei/discorsi_e_dimostrazioni/ pdf/discor_p.pdf (accessed 26 November 2011). 13 Galilei 1638, 100–3. 14 Ibid., 102–3. 15 See Farmer 1939, 92; and Neubauer 1993, speciically 315. 16 See Neubauer 1993, 312 and 361. 17 See Sachs 1940, 187, where no source is cited. Similar schemes, however, are found in Yu-ku-chai-ch’in-p’u (alternatively transliterated as Yuguzhai Qinpu) an instruction book for playing the qin by Chu Feng-chieh, published in Fukien province in 1855. The relevant passage, translated by J. Binkley, is available on his website at http://web.cecs.pdx.edu/~jrb/chin/v39/v39.htm (accessed 22 November 2011). Rather diferent schemes of strand counting evidently not derived from the ratios of the intervals are found in a treatise from the Song Dynasty (960–1279), as translated on the website of J. Thompson, at http://www.silkqin. com/02qnpu/05tydq/ty1b.htm (accessed 22 November 2011). Nevertheless, the system reported in the 19th-century source may well have stemmed from an alternative ancient tradition. 18 Melvin 2010. 19 See Andersson 1930, 90 and 122–3. 20 Ibid., 68 and 129. 21 See the compilation of sources about string materials in Page 1986, Appendix 4. 22 See Farmer 1939, 91 and Neubauer 1993, 311–12. 23 The original text in British Library mss. add. 18752 and 32622 is transcribed in Handschin 1944–5, speciically 2: junge 2 vel 3 vel 4 simul secundum quantitatem quam volueris habere. The version given in Page 1986, 234–5, lacks the number 2 for counting the strands. 24 See Wright 1977, speciically 28–9. See also Chapter 2, Pl. 1 and Alice Margerum’s discussion of ‘Text one’ (this volume, p. 19). 25 See, for example, Woodield 1988, 109–11. 26 The ratios for thirds were mentioned already by the English theorist Walter Odington (active 1298–1316), in De speculatione musicae: see the edition by Hammond 1970, 70–1. 27 See Barbieri 2006, especially 165 f. 28 See Hucbald, De harmonica institutione, in Babb and Palisca 1978, 22. 29 See, for example, Otterstedt 2002, 246–7. 30 See the illustrations in Werner 1954, pl. 2; Bruce-Mitford ‘Rotte (ii)’, in Sadie and Tyrrell 2001, ig. 2; Homo-Lechner 1996, 85; and Theune-Großkopf 2010, 53. 31 See Homo-Lechner 1996, 85–6. 32 The passage, in an edition by P. Lacroix (de Brie 1879, 35), mentions gut for the strings ‘de vielles, de harpes, de rothes, de luthz, de quiternes, de rebecs, de chorros, de almaduries, de symphonies, de cytholes et de aultres instrumens’. 33 The original text and a translation of the passage in question are in Baines 1950, speciically 23. 34 See Arrhenius 1968, 288–93; Beck and Drescher 1968 (see especially pl. 12, showing coils of wire found in Haithabu); and Whitield 1990, 13–28. 35 Theophilus 1961, 68. 36 See O’Curry 1873, vol. 3, 223. On the date of the text see Welch 1996, 5. 37 See Hibberd 1955, speciically 210; and Page 1986, 228–31. 38 Page 1986, 235. 39 This has been suggested, with reference to Roman-era British vessels, in Earwood 1993, 217. The same could be said, for example, of a bucket found in a 6th-century grave beneath Cologne Cathedral (in the Diözesan Museum, Cologne), illustrated in Wilson 1980, 51. 40 See Arwidsson and Berg 1999. 41 Albeit somewhat later, Michael Praetorius reported in Syntagma Strings and Theories of Stringing in the Times of the Citole and Early Cittern | 91 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 musicum (1619, 56) that Irish harps had ‘rather coarse thick brass strings’ (‘ziemlich grobe dicke MessingsSäitten’). See Ripin 1975. Harvey 1975, 25. An important study of wire-drawing technology in this period is von Stromer 1977, 89–120, which includes reproductions of the illustrations of the tools of the trade from the account of wiredrawing technology in Birunguccio 1540, book 9, ch. 8. Klaus 1996a, speciically 52. See also Klaus 1996b. Thomas and Rhodes 1979, speciically 129–30. See also O’Brien 2010, 154–225. Praetorius 1619, 55. This method, also called the ‘Golden Rule’, commonly explained in medieval and Renaissance arithmetic primers, is equivalent to solving x in the equation a over b equals x over c. Lest the idea of reckoning with wire-gauge numbers appear completely fanciful on the present author’s part, one should note that similar calculations were done for harpsichord stringing, with 92 | The British Museum Citole 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 the extra complication of variable string lengths, in Bendeler 1690, 45–6. A partial translation is in Hubbard 1965, 279. Morley 1597, 166. Mersenne 1636–7, facs. reprint, vol. 3, 12 (Livre premier des Instrumens à chordes, prop. IV). Johannes Aegidius de Zamora, Ars musica, in Robert-Tissot 1974, 118; Latin text available online at www.chmtl.indiana.edu/ tml/14th/ZAMLIB_TEXT.html (accessed 30 November 2011). Although organic strings are mentioned, the observation actually applies to strings of all materials. Boethius, De institutione musica, Book I, chapter III. Basically the same conclusion was reached in Abbott and Segerman 1974, 54. Twisted strings are discussed ibid., passim. See Beck and Drescher 1968, pl. IXc. See Page 1986, 132–3. See Buehler-McWilliams 2007, 33 and ig. 26 (Appendix B, this volume, pp. 136, 137). Chapter 10 Cytolle, Guiterne, Morache A Revision of Terminology Crawford Young If organologists have Canon Francis W. Galpin to thank for applying the name ‘gittern’ to the world’s only surviving specimen of a Gothic citole (and thus inadvertently creating the title for the British Museum’s ‘Warwick Castle Gittern’ that was used for much of the 20th century), they must also concede that he was the irst commentator in English to have noticed that there were diferent kinds of ‘gitterns’ to be found in medieval iconography.1 As seen in Plate 1, some depictions had what Galpin called ‘an oval-shaped hole pierced in it just behind the ingerboard, through which the player’s thumb passed and stopped, when necessary, the fourth string....we are not left in any doubt as to this peculiarity, for there is still an English Gittern of the early 14th century in existence’.2 Other depictions, he noted, had a neck ‘free from the body at the back’ and which he called ‘free neck gitterns’, providing the instrument illustrated in Plate 2 as an example.3 The structural similarity between such ‘free-neck gitterns’ and vielles had already caught the eye of Kathleen Schlesinger by 1910, who duly introduced the term ‘guitar-iddle’.4 Both instrument types, the freeneck and thumbhole, are seen in Plate 3, hanging respectively on the wall to the left of the vielle player, in this Parisian miniature from c. 1250.5 Were these ‘free-neck gitterns’ or ‘guitar-iddles’ considered to be citoles in their day and referred to as such? Does the lack of a thumbhole change the citole’s identity?6 Did a citole player typically play both types of instrument? The purpose of this chapter is to take steps towards answering these questions. The proposed answers necessarily involve a discussion of the gittern, here deined as a member of the lute family, smaller than the lute, with a rounded back, one-piece carved construction, gradual neck joint and sickle-shape pegbox, often depicted with frets, used throughout Europe roughly during the period 1200–1500, that modern organologists and performers have referred to by this term since Laurence Wright’s impressive research published in 1977. Alice Margerum has cogently summarized the path of research concerning these medieval instrument types from 1776 up to 2010 – irst the citole, but by association, also the gittern – that will be standard reading for any student of the subject.7 For the purpose of this discussion I will give a condensed version of the same research history. Returning to Galpin, to confuse the names ‘gittern’ and ‘citole’ was, in a way, quite understandable. First, there are instruments in medieval art which, to the eyes of a 20thcentury observer, look like small guitars, and the term ‘gittern’ sounds closer to ‘guitar’ than ‘citole’ does. Second, the term gittern (English) and guiterne (French) were, in fact, used from c. 1550 to mean a small Renaissance guitar of four courses, so there would be a certain logic in applying the name to a similar looking instrument from 200 years earlier.8 The name ‘citole’ might have been understood sooner in modern research had there been only one ‘gittern’ term to explain.9 A handful of 14th-century literary sources distinguish between two types of gittern based on their origin. Some gitterns are described as Moorish while others are called Latin (in French and Spanish, guiterne moresche/ guitarra morisca and guiterne latine/guitarra latina). Galpin and Schlesinger suggested that guitarra latina was the earliest Cytolle, Guiterne, Morache | 93 Plate 1 Francis Galpin, Old English Instrument of Music, London, 1910, pl. 7: detail showing an angel playing a citole in British Library, MS Arundel 83, f. 134v (upper photo) and a photograph of the citole in the British Museum (lower photo, shown here lying face down). Both the miniature and the artefact clearly show the thumbhole described by Galpin medieval name for the guitar or guitar-iddle, while guitarra morisca referred to the long-necked oval lutes found in the Cantigas miniatures.10 Disagreement soon arose regarding the identity of the guitarra morisca. Karl Geiringer (1924) agreed with Galpin on the guitarra latina, but he saw guitarra morisca as the guisterna of the French manuscript below (see Pl. 8). Although he recognized that the instrument was called quinterne in German since the 15th century, he called it mandola (by contrast, in 1975 Alexander Buchner referred to the instrument as quinterne).11 Two articles appeared in the late 1970s that at least clariied what a citole was and what a gittern was not. The irst, by Laurence Wright in 1977, and the second, a research article by Wilhelm Stauder in 1979, correctly identiied the citole by name, although two earlier publications by Mary Remnant in 1965 and Heinz Nickel in 1972 had included a number of iconographical sources of citoles without using the term.12 Two years earlier than Stauder, Wright had re-examined the terms guitarra latina and guitarra morisca. He concluded that ‘only one type is mentioned in the vast majority of references prior to the introduction of the Spanish guitar. It had a rounded back and sickle-shaped pegbox shaped like a Renaissance mandora’ and was in fact the ‘Latin gittern’ (guitarra latina or guiterne latine), whereas ‘the guitarra morisca or guiterne moresche....corresponded to the instrument known in Turkey as the qupuz and in Middle High German as the kobus, and that it entered Eastern Europe through Hungary (and Bohemia)’. Wright concluded by stating that ‘the Moorish gittern, at all events, difered both in form and in place of origin from the more widespread Latin gittern, which had strong ainities with 13 the lute.’ A fresh look at the terms guitarra latina and guitarra morisca may help us to ine tune our idea of what a citole is and what it is not. The sources given below in Table 1 contain Latin, French and Spanish name forms related to ‘gittern’ from the 14th century. To illustrate that ‘citole’ is clearly a diferent instrument type than others named in the following sources, variant citole names are listed below in parentheses when they occur within the same source as gittern name forms. Commentary Source 1. Johannes de Grocheio discussed the practice of music in Paris around 1300 in his treatise De musica, in which he named the common string instruments of his time: psalterium/cithara/lyra/quitarra sarracenica/viella.14 To which ive instruments was Grocheio referring? Viella and psalterium are unproblematic, ‘vielle’ and ‘psaltery’. Both lyra and cithara are more generic and uncertain in reference to a speciic instrument type. In three 14th-century manuscript illustrations, lira meant ‘harp’ (for one example see Pl. 10a), which seems to have been the more common meaning for Plate 2 (left) All Souls College, Oxford, MS vii, f.7. Galpin gave this as an example of a ‘free neck’ (non-thumbhole) construction Plate 3 (right) Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Florence, MS Pluteus 29, f.1v, mid-13th century, showing free-neck construction on the instrument hanging upside down on the left, and thumbhole construction on the instrument on the right 94 | The British Museum Citole Table 1 Sources which imply a Moorish or Latin type of gittern Source and date Name 1. Johannes de Grocheio, De musica (Paris, c. 1300) 2. a. John Duke of Normandy (1348–50), Payment list for minstrels Jehan Hautemer Richard Labbé b. King Charles V (1364) Payment list for minstrels Jehan Hautemer Richard Labbé 3. Guillaume de Machaut a. Remède de fortune (northern France, before 1357) quitarra sarracenica b. Prise d’Alexandrie (northern France, after 1369) 4. Juan Ruiz, Libro de buen amor (Hita? c. 1330) 5. Evrart de Conty, Livre des échecs amoureux moralisés (Paris, late 14th century) 6. Berkeley MS 744 (Paris, 1375) musician associated with drawn instrument in accompanying descriptive text 7. Jean Corbechon, De proprietatibus rerum (Paris, 1372) 8. Heinrich Eger von Kalkar, Cantuagium (Cologne, 1380) guiterne latine guiterne moresche guiterne latine guiterne moresche guiterne morache (cytolle) guiternes moraches (citoles) guitarra latina guitarra morisca (çitola) guyternes mouresques guiternes guisternes thebeus arabs guisterne de barbarie guittern lira.15 A 14th-century French text by Nicole Oresme conirmed ‘lira, ce est harpe’ and ‘cithare, ce est cythole’. However, Brussels MS 21069 elaborated, ‘lira est quoddam genus cithara’ (‘lira is a certain type of cithara’), and ‘vel est sitola’ (‘or it is a citole’) (see Chapter 2, Pl. 1). Grocheio’s remaining term quitarra sarracenica is strongly suggestive of guyterne mouresque or any similar term with the adjective ‘Moorish’ or ‘Arabic’.16 Sources 2–3. Two minstrels (employed by John Duke of Normandy and, later, King Charles V) named Hautemer and Labbé both played guiterne, but the irst played the latine type and the second the moresche type. Machaut may possibly have known these musicians for he was in the service of John’s wife Bonne of Luxembourg from c. 1332 until her death in 1349. Both of his poems Remede and Prise are connected with Bonne,17 and contain passages naming musical instruments. Machaut is the only source for the term morache, which might suggest itself as an abbreviation of guiterne moresche.18 If morache was Machaut’s name for what others called guiterne moresche, then this leaves his guiterne to presumably be what others called guiterne latine. It seems more logical, however, that Machaut would have understood and used guiterne in the same way as the rest of his contemporaries, i.e., meaning ‘gittern’. If this was the case, then what was a morache? Mid 13th-century images of a chordophone type from Moorish Spain (Pls 6–7) are echoed in two later Parisian sources which might cautiously be suggested as candidates for Machaut’s morache. The Spanish images apparently have skin tops with stitching on the edge, a fretless ingerboard and perhaps a rounded back constructed from a gourd, although this is conjecture. Such features are reminiscent of North African lute types, and the general form of these instruments is evoked by the instruments shown in Pls 4–5, although both of these clearly have wooden tops with central soundholes. The irst example (Pl. 4) comes from the Hours of Jeanne d’Evreux, a book owned by Charles V, illuminated in the mid to late 1320s by Jean Pucelle in Paris.19 A second depiction dated c. 1405 from the library of Jean, Duc de Berry (Pl. 5), shows that specimens of this type of instrument could still be found in Parisian iconography at a later date. Whether the term morache Plate 4 (left) Metropolitan Museum of Art, Cloisters Collection 1954 (54.1.2), f.16. An example of a morache? Plate 5 (right) British Library, MS Yates Thompson 37, f. 19. A second morache? Cytolle, Guiterne, Morache | 95 Plate 6 (left) El Escorial J. b. 2, f. 147. An example of viüela de péndola of Moorish derivation? Plate 7 (right) El Escorial J. b. 2, f. 46v. A second viüela de péndola? referred to these instruments in 14th-century Paris remains an open question. Source 4. The only non-French source mentioning the Moorish and Latin gittern distinction is the Libro de buen amor of Juan Ruiz (c. 1283–c. 1350). While little is known of his biography, it is possible that Ruiz was born in al-Andalus, i.e. Moorish Spain, although he is also associated with Hita in the region of Madrid. Ruiz’s list of chordophones includes çitola, guitarra latina and guitarra morisca, but also has viüela de péndola. The paired terms guitarra latina and guitarra morisca occur in no other Spanish source and do not seem to have been commonly used in that land, whereas viüela, viula or similar terms seem to be encountered more frequently.20 Ruiz was well acquainted with French literature, his own verse being modelled on French verse form. It is possible that he knew something about the fashions of Paris.21 His use of the guitarra latina-morisca terms may be a reference or joke about the latest French musical fashion. A musical source written c. 1335, the Las Huelgas Manuscript, tells us in a pointed way that in matters of musical style, the Spanish were well aware of the French manner, which was diferent to their own. On folios 147v, 148 and 148v, there are marginal comments written below the tenor part, ‘manera francessa, hespanona, manera francessa’ (‘French style, then Spanish, then French’).22 Ruiz, writing in c. 1330, is surely alluding to something similar in his poem, and anyone reading or hearing it will get the joke. In stanzas 1516–17 of his poem, Ruiz further lists those instruments which are not suitable for Arabic music (possibly because they are fretted and cannot play microtones required for Arabic modes). These include çitola and guitarra without adjective, which may suggest that both types of guitarra – morisca and latina – are fretted. Conversely, the lute laud and viüela de péndola are well suited for Arabic music, by implication, because both are fretless. Ruiz has viuela de arco for the vielle, and as all of the Cantigas vielles are ovalbodied, the term viüela de péndola could perhaps mean oval-bodied, fretless chordophones as seen in the Cantigas miniatures (Pls 6–7), as Ruiz used it. Source 5. The expansive poem Échecs amoureux by Evrart de Conty (Paris, 1353–1405) was the subject of a large prose commentary by the same author, the Livre des echecs amoureux moralisés, found in seven manuscripts including ive in the Bibliothèque nationale in Paris.23 De Conty lived in Paris and was a physician to Charles V. His commentary contains a large section discussing music as the seventh liberal art. Following an explanation of the division of the monochord, string instruments are described as being of 96 | The British Museum Citole two diferent types: those with a diferent length for each string (harp etc.) and those with strings of the same length which can be stopped to produce diferent pitches (vielle etc.). How a inger is used to stop a string is then described, followed by: ‘Et pour ce sont aucuns telx instrumens signés en pluseurs lieux de cordes au travers en gardant la mesure dessusdite et les proporcions du monocorde pour savoir ou le doy doit touchier sy come nous veons es guyternes mouresques’ (f. 60v, line 17 – ‘and for this some like instruments are marked across [by frets] in many places of the strings while guarding the measure[d intervals] mentioned above and the proportions of the monochord for to know where the inger must touch the string, as we see on guyternes mouresques’).24 Two later passages from this work mention what is apparently the same kind of instrument. The irst passage is found in a discussion of the planets, here the moon, planet of the goddess Diana, which has power over waters and all kinds of moisture and humours, including the sap in trees. For building musical instruments, cutting trees during the time of the full moon was to be avoided as their moisture content was at its peak: ‘Et pour ce aussi dient les philosophes que telx arbres qui sont copés entour la plaine lune ne sont pas proitables pour faire vieles ne guiternes ne nul autre instrument de musique quelconques’ (fol. 102, line 39 – ‘and for this it is also said by the philosophers that such trees which are felled during the full moon are not usable for making vielles and guiternes or any other musical instrument’). The second passage comes in the context of a commentary on chessboard pawns, whose shields show various images which are explained symbolically, in this case a lamb. There is no part of a lamb, the text proclaims, which is not useful for something, including making gittern strings: ‘on fait de ses bouyaux les cordes a guisternes et as autres instrumens de musique’ (fol. 234v, line 13 – ‘one makes of its gut strings for guisternes and other musical instruments’). Source 6. The anonymous Berkeley MS 744, written in Paris in or during the years slightly after 1375, contains a section with a heavily revised account of Boethius’ story of the quadrichord or four-stringed cithara of Mercury.25 In his De musica treatise, Boethius described how various ancient Greek musicians each added single strings to the four-string cithara to expand the scale to eleven strings, which are also discussed as conigurations of tetrachords. The Berkeley author treats the Boethian material diferently, using drawings of contemporary instruments to illustrate the evolution of the four-stringed cithara, from its basic Pythagorean intervals of octave, ifth, fourth and second, to a tuning in consecutive fourths (which was not mentioned in the original Boethius). First come four horizontal lines with letters representing the division of the monochord – the four strings, from top to bottom, are thus tuned c c’ g f (notes are not speciied in Berkeley, these are simply relative intervals; the order of the strings is here already diferent from Boethius’ cithara of Mercury, which is c g f c’). The second step in the evolution of the tuning is then shown on a four-string vielle as c d g c’ (see Pl. 8). This new tuning is attributed to Albinus, a Latin translator of the 2nd century who is not found in the Boethius cithara story, and while it is possible that this was a practical vielle tuning of the later 14th century, it may be more likely that it is a theoretical illustration of the same four basic Pythagorean intervals, but in a diferent order to prepare logically the next step. The third step shows a gittern with a tuning in consecutive fourths c f b e’. The order of the strings is apparently backwards, for they are, from top to bottom, e b f c. However, the accompanying text (also not in Boethius) says: ‘Thebeus the Arab loosened the lowest string, itting a diatesseron between it and the next one, as here’.26 In other words, the previous vielle tuning of second, fourth, fourth has been changed by lowering the interval between the irst two strings to a fourth. It is interesting that the gittern’s tuning is not given as A d g c’, for example, which would more literally illustrate the step described of lowering the irst vielle string. Instead, the irst string is left unchanged and the other three strings are changed. Further, this new tuning shown on the gittern implies a musica icta pitch (in modern terms, a pitch that has been chromatically altered by applying an accidental) on an open string, for e above b-lat must be e-lat to make the perfect fourth.27 Following the third step, the Berkeley author picks up the Boethius account again, using two harps, clavisimbalum and psaltery as illustrations. While the illustrative use of contemporary instruments is in itself fascinating, the point here is that the Berkeley author makes a brief attempt to give an account for the diference between modern and ancient citharae tunings, and an otherwise unfounded association of Thebeus as ‘Arabic’ can be explained via his attributed instrument, the gittern.28 Source 7. A French translation of 1372 by Jean Corbechon of Bartholomeus Anglicus’ De proprietatibus rerum (c. 1240) translates cythara barbarica as guisterne de barbarie.29 Here, ‘barbaric’ paired with ‘guisterne’ may suggest an awareness of the non-Christian heritage of this instrument. Source 8. In a passage from his Latin treatise Cantuagium on chant written in Cologne in 1380, Heinrich Eger von Kalkar describes the monochord and related string instruments. He studied and taught in Paris from c. 1352–64 and knew the late 13th-century treatise of Jerome of Moravia on music, including its unique section describing three diferent tunings of the vielle. Eger von Kalkar gives the guittern (in his spelling) pride of place among chordophones, mentioning it before the vielle. He describes the possibility of playing ive or six notes on one string (ut-re-mi-fa-sol/la) by stopping the string. The attention given to the instrument suggests its importance in Paris amongst educated musicians, as already attested by Plate 8 University of California Music Library, Berkeley, MS 744, p. 52. The cithara shown below, was invented by Thebeus arabs Grocheio’s treatise of 80 years earlier.30 The use of guittern without epithet suggests that in this source, the term was used alone to mean gittern. Let us summarize what the French sources from c. 1300–c. 1370 seem to tell us concerning the terms guiterne, guiterne moresche and related names against the background of 14th-century French iconographical sources where the gittern is, generally speaking, the most common plucked chordophone. Grocheio’s string instruments are presented within the context of instruments which are suitable for the study of music, and in all likelihood are mainstream instruments of his day. ‘Sarracenica’ means ‘of Arabic heritage’. Grocheio’s term implies that at the end of the 13th century this quitarra was considered to be diferent from another kind of quitarra. Echecs clearly says that the guyterne mouresque has frets. By twice mentioning guiterne after this, it suggests that this is the same instrument which has been previously mentioned, and by mentioning it together with the vielle, it seems to be a common instrument. Jean Corbechon translates cythara barbarica as guisterne de barbarie, suggestive of sarracenica /mouresque, and the Berkeley treatise shows a gittern iguratively illustrating a tuning developed by Thebeus arabs. In summary, the classic gittern as described in the introduction to this essay was referred to by 14th-century Parisians as guiterne moresche / guyternes mouresques / quitarra sarracenica or gui(s)terne alone. The guiterne latine, therefore, must be a diferent instrument type, despite Wright’s claim in 1977 that it was the classic gittern. The sources listed above have made it a relatively straightforward task to identify how the French called the gittern in the 14th century: either as gui(s)terne alone, or with mouresque, de barbarie, moresche, sarracenica or related adjective for ‘Arabic’ or ‘Moorish.’ A proposal has cautiously been suggested above for the signiicance of Machaut’s morache. Cytolle, Guiterne, Morache | 97 Plate 9 Giotto workshop, Elder of the Apocalypse, Basilica Inferiore di San Francesco, Assisi. Cetera, c. 1310–20 Plate 10a–b left (a), Bibliothèque nationale, Paris, MS lat. 7378A, f. 45v, right b) Bibliothèque nationale, Paris, MS lat. 7378A, f. 45v (author’s reconstruction of detail). Labelled chitara in the manuscript, here illustrated as a candidate for a ‘Latin gittern’ But what of the instrument called guiterne latine, used in Paris during this period? A ‘Latin’ gittern was associated in some way with Italy. Was it simply the gittern, but of a diferent size, with a diferent tuning, or perhaps without frets? The iconographical evidence speaks against these proposals, for Italian gitterns of the Trecento period are often fretted, in the depictions detailed enough to examine the ingerboard coniguration, and they show no consistent diference in size from their French counterparts. There is no evidence that the tuning of the gittern in Italy would have been diferent to its French counterpart. However, Italy was home to a plucked chordophone not found anywhere else, one of smallish size, like the gittern, but diferent in shape and tuning. The cetera was the only member of the lute family which was native to the Italian peninsula, with a waisted or spade-shaped, lat-backed body, short neck and bulky, wooden frets (see Pl. 9).31 Forms of the cetera were known there since at least the 12th century and probably earlier. This instrument was the forerunner to the 16th-century cittern, and it was the only chordophone in the entire medieval period known to have had metal strings – at least in the 15th century – and a diferent tuning with a much narrower range of pitches than the gittern or lute. Cetere are not found in 14th-century Parisian iconography, but free-neck chordophones can be found there which may have been seen as Italian in heritage and style. Two examples from the 1360s provide candidates for the elusive guiterne latine. We may irst examine in Plate 10b the Parisian treatise c. 1325 of Johannes de Muris’ De musica speculativa secundum boetium, copied in 1362, which includes at the bottom of the image an upside-down sketch of an instrument labelled as ‘chitara’ (a spelling with a distinctly latine lavour). This instrument has a free-neck construction and shouldered body. Like the Italian chordophone in Plate 9, it bears a certain resemblance to a vielle. In fact, MS 7378A shares a marked similarity with the Berkeley manuscript of approximately 13 years later – it illustrates a Boethian-inluenced text with exactly the same string instruments, except that the plucked chitara in 7378A is replaced with a vielle in Berkeley.32 Both treatises have much in common, in their list of instruments, with that of Johannes de Grocheio. Other free-neck chordophones found in French or French-inluenced 14th-century iconography may be further candidates for examples of ‘Latin gitterns’, in particular, those featuring sickle-shape pegboxes. This type of pegbox was a salient feature of the gittern, but it is sometimes seen on instruments with a shouldered body shape. The next two plates are taken from the same painting. Plate 11 shows a guiterne moresche, with Plate 12 illustrating another instrument with the characteristics just described – a plausible guiterne latine. Magister Theodoricus, court painter to Holy Roman Emperor Karl IV, decorated the Chapel of the Holy Cross at Karlstejn Castle near Prague. In this Apocalypse fresco painted in the 1360s, Theodoricus’ style displays the inluence of ‘the art of Bruges, or, more generally, Franco-Flemish art’, according to Barbara Drake Boehm.33 Plate 13 shows a surviving instrument with a sicklepegbox and shouldered body in the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, ofering some resemblance to the proposed guiterne latine example in Plate 12. It has been dated variously from the late 14th to the early 15th century and was built either in France (Geiringer) or in northern Italy (Winternitz, Falke, Metropolitan Museum of Art). The 98 | The British Museum Citole Plate 11 (left) Fresco, Magister Theodoricus, Karlstejn Castle. An example of a ‘Moorish gittern’ Plate 12 (right) Fresco, Magister Theodoricus, Karlstejn Castle. An example of a ‘Latin gittern’ (?) structural similarity with a second surviving bowed chordophone, as well as the echoed form of the instrument in Plate 12, suggest that this is not a gittern.34 So to come back to the questions posed at the beginning of our discussion, were these ‘free-neck gitterns’ or ‘guitariddles’ referred to by the name ‘citole’ in their day? In Paris or Parisian-inluenced culture, they may have been called guiterne latine or chitara, as explicitly labelled in Plate 10a–b. Are there any reasons why only an instrument of thumbhole construction should be called a citole? Over the course of the Middle Ages, no single scene in the visual arts, sacred or secular, generated as many images of musical instruments in sculpture, manuscript illumination, and on painted surfaces as one word in the Revelation of Christ’s prophetic Vision of the Apocalypse. Three passages in the Vulgata translation of the New Testament mention the instrument ‘cithara’, yet in only one of them is the visual image of the cithara a salient element of the content of the scene described (Revelation 5:8, here given within its context, beginning at 4:1):35 After this I looked, and there in heaven a door stood open! And the irst voice, which I had heard speaking to me like a trumpet, said, “Come up here, and I will show you what must take place after this.” At once I was in the spirit, and there in heaven stood a throne, with one seated on the throne! And the one seated there looks like jasper and carnelian, and around the throne there is a rainbow that looks like an emerald. Around the throne are twenty-four thrones, and seated on the thrones are twenty-four elders, dressed in white robes, with golden crowns on their heads. Coming from the throne are lashes of lightning, and rumblings and peals of thunder, and in front of the throne burn seven laming torches, which are the seven spirits of God; and in front of the throne there is something like a sea of glass, like crystal. Around the throne, and on each side of the throne, are four living creatures, full of eyes in front and behind: the irst living creature like a lion, the second living creature like an ox, the third living creature with a face like a human face, and the fourth living creature like a lying eagle...day and night without ceasing they sing “Holy holy holy, the Lord God Almighty, who was and is and is to come.” And whenever the living creatures give glory and honour and thanks to the one who is seated on the throne, who lives forever and ever, the twenty-four elders fall below the one who is seated on the throne and worship the one who lives forever and ever; they cast their crowns before the throne, singing “You are worthy, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honour and power, for you created all things, and by your will they existed and were created.” Then I saw in the right hand of the one seated on the throne a scroll written inside and on the back, sealed with seven seals. And I saw a mighty angel proclaiming with a loud voice, “Who is worthy to open the scroll and break its seals?”....Then I saw between the throne and the four living creatures and among the Elders a Lamb standing as if it had been slaughtered, having seven horns and seven eyes, which are the seven spirits of God sent out into all the earth. He went and took the scroll from the right hand of the one who was seated on the throne. When he had taken the scroll, the four living creatures and twenty-four elders fell before the Lamb, each holding a cithara [citharas] and golden bowls [ ialas] full of incense, which are the prayers of the saints. They sing a new song, “You are worthy to take the scroll and to open its seals.....”.36 As a concrete visual component of the drama in the setting of the Throne of God, these citharae are an important part of the soundtrack of the Apocalypse, even though the Elders hold them and do not play them per se. According to Hammerstein, the oldest depiction of the Elders of the Apocalypse is in the 5th-century mosaic of the triumphal arch in the Basilica San Paolo fuori le mure in Rome where the Elders hold their crowns but no citharae.37 The tradition of Apocalypse manuscript illumination began in the 8th or 9th centuries and can be divided into three subdivisions – Old Italian, Old French and Spanish.38 Instruments appear in the French and Spanish traditions, but not in the Italian.39 As a French example, Hammerstein gives the Trier Apocalypse illumination, showing the Elders holding rectangular string instruments, psaltery-like citharae and vessels (containers) for incense, the ialas of the Vulgata text.40 The Spanish tradition, with surviving sources from the 10th to the early 13th centuries, however, tends to feature instruments of the lute family.41 An early Mozarabic example from the 11th century, the Apocalypse of St Sever, shows each Elder ofering his vial of incense (which looks rather like a drinking goblet for water or wine) and ovalbodied, chordophone cithara to God.42 In some depictions of the Elders, as in the Gospel of Saint Médard of Soissons from the early 9th century (Pl. 14), it can be diicult to distinguish the vials or containers of incense from the oval-shaped instruments. There is a good reason behind this physical similarity: both objects – vessels and musical instruments – are related in the history of music theory writings. Two early authorities, Cassiodorus and Isidore of Seville, set the tone Cytolle, Guiterne, Morache | 99 Plate 13 Chordophone, c. 1420. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 64.101.1409. An existing specimen of an instrument (a type of Latin gittern?) which bears a recognizable similarity to Plate 12 in basic structure, including squared body shape and curved pegbox (© Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, www.metmuseum.org) for later classiications of instruments when they spoke of ‘musical vessels’ as hollow objects made to sound by air or striking and ‘vessels’ as percussion instruments.43 Chordophones were particularly apt to be seen as ‘vessels’ because some had an oval hollow body and a narrow neck. The later theorist Johannes Tinctoris reminds us of this in c. 1481 when he describes the shape of a Turkish chordophone as ‘a large spoon’, while Paolo Cortese (1510) describes a lute as ‘lembus’, a ‘vessel’ or ‘boat’.44 Besides the iconographical game of physical similarity between the cithara and ialas of the Apocalypse, there was another level to play on, in an etymological sense. The word ‘vial’ (an American-English spelling) was used above in the sense of ‘vessel’ or container. The British spelling of this, ‘phial’, is closer to the Latin phialam from which it originates. The Vulgata term from Revelation 5:8, translated above as ‘bowls’, is ialas. This is of course suggestive of viela or viola; indeed, Christopher Page cites phiala as a synonym for vielle in the high Middle Ages.45 It could also apparently carry a 100 | The British Museum Citole meaning of ‘rebec’, as in the Summa musice, c. 1200: ‘Stringed instruments are those which are played with strings of metal, silk or gut; examples are cithare, vielle and phiale, psalteria, chori, monocordium, symphonia or organistrum and instruments like these.’46 In addition to phialam, a second kind of common container (water bucket), also used in Christian liturgy since the Carolingian, Ottonian and Romanesque periods, was the situla. An intrinsic feature of a situla is that it has a form that facilitates carrying it, i.e., a handle.47 If ceramically constructed, this meant either one handle spanning the opposite edges of the mouth of the vessel, or one thumbhole on each side of the throat of the container. Handles are naturally found on other medieval containers of liquid (e.g. amphorae, jugs and vases, typically made of ceramic), but a situla is the only object of this kind with a speciic liturgical identity. The similarity of the terms situla and sitola (the instrument name, using the spelling of the manuscript Brussels 21069 discussed under Source 1 above; any number of other phonetic spellings of the chordophone’s name could be referred to here as well) is obvious, just as the physical form of the citole, including its thumbhole, is suggestive of the vessel or container described above. The rise of the citole as seen in Spanish sculpture of the 13th century for example, features almost exclusively instruments with thumbholes, because this characteristic, in part, deines the instrument and gives it its humorous name (no pun intended).48 This is not to say that the thumbhole construction was a conscious attempt to build a musical instrument as a pun on the cithara of the Apocalypse, for the thumbhole body form aforded certain advantages, neck-pegbox stability perhaps as the irst.49 The two chordophones, vielle and citole, whose identity is rooted in the Bible (speciically Revelation 5:8), have nothing to do with the other two common chordophones of Gothic Europe, lute and rebec (gittern), which are non-Christian in origin and of rounded-back form. The vielle and citole are certainly not suited for Arabic music, as Ruiz says in his poem discussed as Source 4 above.50 They are instruments of Christian culture and took on vernacular names with a direct or indirect connection to the symbolic soundtrack of the Apocalypse.51 A citole, therefore, was deined by its thumbhole construction and was properly called ‘citole’ (or recognizable variant) for that speciic constructional feature/body form. Two-dimensional iconographical sources may represent the thumbhole with greater, or lesser, success; the seeming absence of thumbhole construction in a frontal, twodimensional depiction is not necessarily proof of the depicted artefact’s lack of one. If we did not have an existing citole with a thumbhole, and had no surviving sculptures of citoles, we might be inclined to think that painters of miniatures had indulged in an ‘artistic convention’, a collective fantasy about the structure of certain chordophones. We have an existing instrument at the British Museum, happily, and it has a thumbhole. And we have the only existing drawing of an instrument explicitly labelled ‘sitola’ – with a thumbhole.52 A plausible artistic convention in manuscript illumination for the citole is the depiction of the thumbhole as a curving neck with a carved head at the end.53 This may Plate 14 Bibliothèque nationale, Paris, lat 8850, f. 1v. Two of the Elders hold citharae or are they incense vessels? be seen as a graphic abbreviation of the curved spine behind the thumbhole shown in the De Lisle Psalter (Pl. 1), the Tickhill Psalter and the Brussels MS 21069 mentioned above, to name but a few examples.54 Bowed chordophones with a distinct neck joint (= vielles) are not as a rule represented with carved heads, so that the most common example of a free-neck chordophone – vielle – shows that free-neck construction is not synonymous with a carved head ornament. Free-neck, shouldered chordophones north of the Alps (and in the context of the sources discussed above, primarily Parisian) could be associated with the Italian peninsula as the place of origin of their instrument type. A Parisian example of an image labelled with an Italianate spelling chitara is shown in Plate 10. This source alone should tell us that 14th-century musicians understood the free-neck chordophone as something other than the citole. Because of the similarity in shape and size to the citole when seen from the front, in the 14th century it was useful for some Parisians to diferentiate this with another name. The thumbhole citole is not ‘Latin’ at all, for no single reliable example of a thumbhole citole has been found there.55 Did the free-neck guiterne latine or chitara have a diferent musical function than the citole? If the free-neck instrument was in fact inluenced by the Latin cetera, its tuning, plectrum technique and perhaps string material (metal?) would have combined to produce a radically diferent sound and presence than the gut-strung citole, which was also very diferent to the the gut-strung gittern. While the citole usually seems to have been played with a substantial, broad, straight plectrum made of wood, bone or another solid material, both the cetera and the gittern were played with a thin, more lexible plectrum as shown in Plate 9. Materials for this type of plectrum very likely included feather(s), gut strings, perhaps also bark or thick parchment strips. The citole plectrum, on the other hand, looks more rigid, as in Plate 1 – sometimes of a large enough size to suggest a kind of stick to strike or beat the strings as well as pluck. This chapter has been an extended discussion of the heritage/identity (inventione) and terminology of plucked chordophone types, in particular, of the citole and gittern in 14th-century France. 56 It presented the following conclusions: 1. In 14th-century France, the gittern carried a MoorishArabic lavour not a Latin one, and was titled guiterne moresche/guyternes mouresques/quitarra sarracenica/etc, or gui(s)terne alone. 2. Following (1), these terms (quitarra sarracenica, etc.) did not refer to the large, long-necked Arabic lute that modern interpreters since c. 1970 have used, for example, as a Turkish saz with metal strings. 3. The Latin gittern was associated with the Italian cetera, having a free neck and articulated or shouldered body shape, rather than the sloping body of the Moorish gittern. It was essentially the ‘guitar-iddle’ of Kathleen Schlesinger, often resembling – as her term implied – a plucked vielle. Playing it was a diferent specialization than playing the Moorish gittern, which could imply a diferent tuning and musical function for the Latin gittern. 4. Such free-neck instruments were not termed ‘citoles’. ‘Citoles’ were deined, in large part, by their thumbholes, just as Moorish gitterns were strictly deined by their sickle-shape pegboxes. 5. The Vulgata text concerning the Elders of the Apocalypse was connected with images which manifested themselves in both the visual arts of the Middle Ages and the identity (including name and physical shape) of the vielle and citole. Notes 1 2 3 4 5 Galpin 1910, 16–17. Galpin found conirmation that the term ‘gittern’ referred to a small, waisted plucked instrument in Michael Praetorius’ Syntagma musicum (1619), which shows a ‘Quinterna’ to be of this form (ibid., pl. XVI). For further discussion of the nomenclature of the British Museum instrument, see Buehler 2002, 3–4. The upper image in Plate 1 (British Library, London, MS Arundel 83 (Psalter of Robert de Lisle), f. 134v), was most recently reproduced in Margerum 2010, vol. II, Appendix B, 277. Galpin 1910, 17. Schlesinger 1910, 243. ‘Guitar-iddle’ refers of course to the waisted body shape shared by a common type of vielle and the free-neck ‘gittern’ mentioned by Galpin. Two contemporary Parisian music theory manuscripts, reproduced here as Plates 8 and 10a, each contain a series of drawings of ive instruments which illustrate material loosely taken from Boethius. The instruments shown in both sources are the same – gittern, harp, eschequier (clavisimbalum) and psaltery – with the exception of the ifth instrument, which is shown as a ‘free neck gittern’ in MS 7378 A and as a vielle in the Berkeley MS. In other words, the two sources provide an example of the similarity between the bowed vielle and plucked ‘guitar-iddle,’ to use Schlesinger’s term. The occasional occurrence of both thumbhole and free-neck instrument types within a group of musicians or instruments within one iconographical source was noted in Young 1984, 76. The sense of the statement was taken in Alice Margerum’s doctoral thesis to mean that the two instruments were ‘an obvious duo’ (suggested musical function) and ‘in conjunction as a contrasting pair’, whereas the German term ‘gepaart’ of the original sentence Cytolle, Guiterne, Morache | 101 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 construction simply meant that both as types were found within the same group of depicted instruments. See Margerum 2010, vol. I, 256. The earliest use of the speciic term ‘thumbhole’ is in Wright 1977, 31. Margerum 2010, vol. 1, 23–36. For an account of the Renaissance guitar, see Tyler 1980, 25–30. Since Galpin, it was claimed that there were four types of medieval chordophones, ‘lute’, ‘gittern’, ‘mandore’ (‘mandora’ or ‘mandola’) and ‘citole’. Of these four terms, ‘mandore’ was erroneously accepted as a documented medieval term (it came later in the 16th century) and thus became a terminological convention in the 20th century for an instrument which in the Middle Ages had never been called that. See Wright 1977, 8–9, 18–19. ‘...this instrument with vertical incurved sides and lat back was brought into Southern Europe (by the Greeks and Romans, having adopted many instruments which they found in popular use in Asia Minor), the irst name given to the Guitar in medieval times being Guitare Latine or Chitarra Latina...’ Galpin 1910, 16. Schlesinger noted: ‘When the Moors introduced their improved Kithara or Githara into Spain, they found that the inhabitants already had a similar instrument obtained from the Romans, which, to distinguish it from that of the Moors, was then called the Latin Guitar. It is probable that the “Guitarra Latina” was at irst twanged by the means of the ingers or plectrum, and that later, when the bow was applied to stringed instruments such as the crotta, it was also used for the guitar, which we thenceforth designate as the guitar-iddle....Fig. 29 may be the “Guitarra Latina” of the same poem.’ Schlesinger 1910, 243. The igure to which Schlesinger here refers is one of the Cantigas miniatures showing a waisted instrument with a carved head. The Cantigas miniature which Schlesinger made a drawing of in Figure 28 (1910, 243) was sketched from f. 39v of the Escorial manuscript, the oval-bodied, long-necked chordophone with a broad oval peghead with frontal pegs. As Geiringer pointed out in 1923, this miniature in fact provides the sole occurrence within examples of medieval iconography of an instrument that was taken to have been a common chordophone in southern Europe of the Middle Ages. See Geiringer 1923, 53. On Schlesinger’s ‘guitar-iddle’, see also note 4 above. Geiringer 1924. See n. 9 above concerning ‘mandora’. See also Buchner 1975, 79–90. ‘(Es) wird deutlich, dass sich der Name citole auf die oben besprochenen Instrumente mit unterschiedlicher Zargenbreite stützt...diese Citole entspricht noch nicht der späteren Cister.’ Stauder 1979, 234–5, despite Margerum’s claim to the contrary that he identiied the early Spanish citoles as ‘citterns’ (Margerum 2010, vol. I, 31). Remnant 1965; Nickel 1972, pls 42–63. Wright 1977, 8–23, quoted passages above are from 22–3. For the relevant passages in Latin and English, see Page 1993, 30–1. The three manuscripts are British Library, MS Sloane 3983, f.13 (reproduced in Montagu 1976, Plate II), Paris, Bibliothèque nationale, MS lat 7378A, f. 45v and University of California Music Library, Berkeley, MS 744, p. 53. For the Oresme passage, see Wright 1977, 35. Something of a popular myth has come down to modern interpreters of medieval music regarding Grocheio’s quitarra sarracenica, which Thomas Binkley understood as a long-necked lute as found in the Cantigas miniatures (following Galpin’s and especially Schlesinger’s lead) and which he and his students, present author included, used on many recordings. His instrument was a modern Turkish saz with metal strings and a grafted-on disc peghead. See Galpin 1910. and Schlesinger 1910 and note 10 above. Wright 1977, 11; see further in Earp 1995, 24–5. Wright points out that ‘the wild mis-spellings moneche, moccache and monarche found in some manuscripts of the two poems Remède de fortune and Prise d’Alexandrie show that the term was unfamiliar to certain scribes’. Wright 1977, 11. According to research published by Karen Gould, Pucelle’s miniatures include the presence of North African ethnic types. See Gould 1992, 53. Wright 1977, 37. For more on Ruiz see Jackson 1972, 162–4. 102 | The British Museum Citole 22 For a reference to this manuscript’s annotations on the given folios, see Stevenson 1960, 44. 23 Folio numbers cited below are from Paris, Bibliothèque nationale, MS fr 9197 (c. 1390–1420). 24 Echecs f. 60v, line 17. The sense of ‘marked places crossing the strings’ here is surely a non-technical way of saying ‘frets’, rather than markings inlaid or painted on the ingerboard of this particular type of instrument. The presence of clearly visible frets is more common in Italian than in French sources, which might lead one to conclude that latine and moresche simply meant that the gittern was played with frets in Italy and without in France. The distinction, however, is due more to the nature of the most common sources – paintings (Italy) and manuscript miniatures (France). Images in the former medium are larger and allow the depiction of greater detail. French sources, such as the stained glass windows with musical angels at the cathedral of Rouen, c. 1310, make it clear that fretted gitterns were known in France. Paired frets of tied gut seem to have been used in Italy in the earlier 14th century. Geiringer’s remark that the gittern only had frets after c. 1330 (1923, 60) is contradicted by the date of the Martini fresco, 1313–18; in any case, the lack of detailed depictions of the instrument from any part of Europe before c. 1300 makes it diicult to prove that 13thcentury gitterns had no frets. 25 University of California Music Library, Berkeley, MS 744, 51–5; translated in Ellsworth 1984. 26 ‘Thebeus arabs inferiorem cordam laxavit dyatessaron inter eam et eius sequentem aptans prout iacet’. The translation above is from Ellsworth 1984, 195. 27 A tuning of fourths for the gittern is also suggested by the author of Summa musice, who says that stopped-string instruments can be tuned in fourths, ifths and octaves. See Page 1991, 87. 28 Thebeus may be a corruption of ‘Toroebus, son of Atys and king of the Lydians’ who, in Boethius, added a ifth string to Mercury’s cithara. Berkeley also corrupts Toroebus to ‘Chorebus Athis king of the Lydians’ who added the ifth string. See Palisca 1989b, 29–40. 29 See Marcuse 1975, 373–4. 30 The full passage reads as follows: ‘Est autem et hoc monochordum omnium instrumentorum musicorum fundamentum. Claves enim seu notas, quas ipsum habet in se conjunctim, alia instrumenta habent divisim, ut patet in psalteriis et citharis organisque et aliis ludis similibus, in quibus, si chorda vel clavis una sonat ut, alia divisa ab illa sonat re, tertia mi, quarta fa et sic ultra. In guitternis vero et viellis et rebebis et similibus, si superior chorda maximum ascensum digitorum praesentat quinque notas vel sex, altera totidem sonat, et sic usque ad inimam et semper divisim, quod tantum monochordum facit conjunctim. Quapropter etiam monochordum ideliter examinat omnem cantum.’ Hüschen 1952. 31 This statement is in reference to my own database of cetera images assembled from 1976 up until the present. 32 Page 1980, 24. 33 Boehm 2005, 14. See also Buchner 1975, who proposes the same instrument identiication as above. For an opposing view, reversing the identiication (in my view incorrectly), see Wright 1977, 35. 34 For a summary of datings, see Crane 1972, 16. It is not out of the question that this instrument was played with a bow (?), for it has some resemblance to a slightly later example of a bowed instrument, the so-called violeta of St Caterina de’Vigri of Bologna (this artefact is described in Tiella 1975). 35 The three passages containing ‘cithara’ are Revelation 5:8, 14:2 and 18:22. 36 From the NRSV (New Revised Standard Version): The Holy Bible, with Illustrations from the Vatican Library (London 1996, 1252). Revelation 5:8 in the Vulgata reads: ‘et cum aperuisset librum quattuor animalia et viginti quattuor seniores ceciderunt coram agno habentes singuli citharas et ialas aureas plenas odoramentorum quae sunt orationes sanctorum’. 37 Hammerstein 1962, 196. 38 Ibid. 39 Ibid. Two points should be added here: (1) Hammerstein’s assessment of the lack of instruments in the Italian tradition of Apocalypse illumination does not apply to the later Middle Ages. See, for example, the Elders miniature from the Bible of Clement 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 VII (c. 1330–50) reproduced in Remnant and Marks 1980, pl. 67; (2) Hammerstein’s claim (1962, 198) that Italian art of the Romanesque period depicting the Apocalypse scene is without instruments is patently untrue in the very example he mentions, the frescoes at Nepi, where the Elders hold citharae. Hammerstein 1962, 196–7. This tradition, according to Hammerstein, is based upon older Spanish or North African sources (ibid., 197). Ibid., 196–7. The manuscript shown is Paris, Bibl. nat., lat. 8878, f. 121v–122. Relevant passages from both writers can be found in Strunk et al. 1998, 35, 42. For the passage of Tinctoris’s treatise De inventione et usu musicae in an English translation with the original Latin, see Baines 1950, 23. Paolo Cortese’s De cardinalatu libri tres (1510) has been published in facsimile and translated into English by Nino Pirrotta in Pirrotta 1984, 99. Page 1986, 220. ‘Chordalia sunt ea que per chordas metallinas, intestinales vel sericinas exerceri videntur; qualia sunt cithare, vielle et phiale, psalteria, chori, monochordium, symphonia seu organistrum, et hiis similia.’ See Page 1991, 61. ‘Bucket-shaped vessel, often used in a Christian context to contain holy water....The most elaborate surviving situlae are Ottonian, made from a single piece of ivory and lavishly carved.’ Hourihane 2012, 598. The similarity between the Latin term and the instrument name was pointed out by Alice Margerum. See Margerum 2010, 77–8. 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 At the time of writing I am aware of only one exception in Spanish sculpture, that is, a citole without a thumbhole, which is at Burgos; see Margerum 2010, vol II, Appendix B, 161. For a discussion of the advantages of thumbhole construction of the citole, see Young 1984, 85. Wright 1977, 40. The pairing of viola and situla was noticed by Margerum. See Margerum 2010, 77–8. Wright 1977, 27–8, drew attention to various examples of viole/citole word pairings. Alice Margerum gives two other examples of illustrations identifying citoles in her study, from Li livres dou tresor and the Tablas de San Millan. These are miniatures illustrating text passages which can point towards identifying a citole, but they contain inconsistencies, for example, using the image of a harp to illustrate the term ‘canon’, or a shawm or doucaine to illustrate ‘laut’. They are important sources, but in my opinion are not explicitly labelled illustrations like the Brussels manuscript. See Margerum, this volume, pp. 19–20; Margerum 2010, vol. 1, 39. The images from Li livres dou tresor and Tablas de San Milan in Margerum 2010 mentioned in note 54 are but two sources for many instruments depicted in this way. The De Lisle Psalter and Tickhill Psalter images are reproduced in Remnant and Marks 1980, pls 57, 71. The only possible exception known to this writer at this time – with large reservations – is the 14th-century miniature reproduced in Young 1984, pl. 16. The author would like to thank Marc Lewon and Kate BuehlerMcWilliams for their critical comments. Cytolle, Guiterne, Morache | 103 Chapter 11 Li autres la citole mainne Towards a Reconstruction of the Citole’s Performance Practice Mauricio Molina 104 | The British Museum Citole The study of the art and literature of the late Romanesque and Gothic periods reveals that during the 13th and 14th centuries a guitar-like plucked string instrument known as the citole was particularly popular in Spain, England and France. In the sources this instrument is most commonly found in the hands of jongleurs and clerics, in the context of dance music, and is often paired with another stringed instrument, the vielle. While a reconstruction of some of the citole’s structural features is possible thanks to the study of an existing medieval specimen, the British Museum citole, the reconstruction of its performance practice seems an impossible task since there is no information about the instrument’s musical functions in treatises or any surviving music. A reconstruction of some basic elements of this practice can, nonetheless, still be attempted by analysing, comparing and putting into context some fragmentary information about the citole that is found both in art and non-musical literature from this period. Factors such as its structural elements, the position of the player’s body and the manner of producing sound, the acoustic needs of performance environments and descriptions of speciic music repertoires can help to build a fuller picture of the citole’s role in music of this era. We should begin this investigation by looking at some performative and structural features of the citole that are commonly portrayed in visual sources.1 From iconographic sources we learn the following: the citole was played at chest level; in the majority of cases its ingerboard was furnished with frets; and it was invariably played with a plectrum.2 The fact that the instrument was held at chest level not only suggests that the performers mostly played standing up, but also most importantly indicates that sound projection was one of the performers’ major goals. Normally an instrument played sitting down and on the lap would project much less sound than in a standing position and at chest level. The shape of the citole appears to facilitate this manner of holding and playing: many depictions of the instrument and the British Museum citole itself present a lattened back and a body that is deep on the ingerboard side but one that narrows down towards the tailpiece more or less forming a 30º angle. It is possible that this narrowing might have been devised to facilitate both the holding of the instrument without a strap and its plucking with the arm relaxed at an acute angle (Pl. 1).3 As to the frets, it can be inferred from their normal purpose in other plucked string instruments that their principal function in the citole was to provide a ixed pitch. A concern for precise tuning and the use of musical instruments as guides for proper intonation is well recorded in medieval musical treatises from diferent periods and musical cultures. For example, the Muslim theorist and performer al-Fārābī (c. 873–950) in his Kitāb al-Mūsīqī al-Kabīr informs us that instruments were sought to act as ḥāiẓah (guardians) to keep the voice correctly in tune.4 Similarly, some ive centuries later, Giorgio Anselmi explains in his De musica (1434) that string instruments, once tuned, did not falter in their intonation as the voice did.5 The use of the citole as a guide for such tuning purposes is recorded in two diferent musical treatises. One of these sources is the 13th-century De musica by Lambertus in which the author recommends his pupils to write the letters of the Gamaut on the ingerboards of instruments such as the vielle and the citole for reference purposes.6 The other treatise is the anonymous 14th-century Quatuor Principalia Musica in which the vielle and the citole are proposed as monochord substitutes.7 The idea that the citole could function as a monochord surrogate further suggests that its frets could have been positioned to produce a Pythagorean scale. During the Middle Ages the monochord was considered a didactic tool through which pitches created by Pythagorean ratios were laid out and taught.8 The citole’s frets, apart from providing secure intonation, also afected the tone produced by the instrument. Frets, acoustically speaking and regardless of their material, would have helped to create a bright and sustained sound since each works as a movable top nut that allows the strings to vibrate freely, even when pressed by the ingers. Moreover, frets emphasize the middle and high harmonics of the notes produced. Since citole players activated the strings with a plectrum, a rigid or semi-pliable tool that often generates a sharp and crisp tone rich in harmonics, it can be surmised that the interaction between plectrum articulation and the frets generated clearly voiced, bright and sustained tones. As the production of sound relied on the action of the plectrum we should now turn to the medieval sources for an indication of how it was used. The only literary references that mention how the strings were set into motion are found in some 13th-century satirical texts composed by Galician troubadours. One of them is a poem by Joán García de Ghillalde in which the author spitefully addresses the jongleur Lourenço, a citole player, by criticizing the way he handles this instrument: Lourenço, pois te quitas de rascar / E desamparas teu citolon, / Rogo-te que nunca digas meu son, / E ia mais nunca me faras pesar. Lourenço, you stop scratching / and forsake your big citole / I pray to you that you never perform one of my compositions / so I don’t have to lament such spectacle.9 Similar language and imagery are also used by the troubadour Martín Soarez in another satire against a diferent jongleur who was also a citole player: Un jograr que dizian Lopo / E citolava mal e cantava peyor / […] citolon mui grande sobreçado / […] mais vas no citolon rascar. A jongleur named Lopo / played the citole badly and sung even worse / [This Lopo] had the big citole over the arm… / [Lopo] will you scratch your big citole?10 Although it is clear that rascar is used by both troubadours in a pejorative way to belittle the manner in which the two jongleurs played the citole, it also describes a speciic action that we can visualize much more clearly than the one represented by the simple verb tocar (to play). The verb rascar is used in modern-day Spain to describe the disorganized and careless strumming of some lamenco guitar players.11 It is possible that the Galician troubadours used it in a similar manner. Nonetheless, it is important to take into account that in medieval Galician-Portuguese the verb rascar described the act of scraping or scratching something.12 Plate 1 Elder of the Apocalypse playing a citole, c. 1235–40. Burgos Cathedral (photo: Pepe Rey) Although little can be deduced about the speciic nuances of the plectrum technique used by citole players from the verb rascar, we can assume that the Galician troubadours used it to refer to a continuous and energetic movement of the plectrum over the strings, a playing technique that would also have contributed to the instrument’s resonance. As we have seen so far, diferent structural and performative elements portrayed in art and literature suggest that citole makers and performers were concerned with sound projection and accuracy of intonation. These concerns are understandable from a functional point of view when we place the citole in the context of sound space, repertoire and ensemble combination. In literature the citole is described as being performed not in quiet environments, but in noisy indoor and outdoor spaces and surroundings. For example, in the anonymous 13th-century poem dedicated to the Spanish hero Fernán González, it is noted that during his wedding citoles were played outdoors in a noisy setting: ‘De otra parte matavan los toros los monteros / avya ay muchas de cytulas e muchos vyoleros’ (‘On the other side there were horsemen killing bulls / there were also many citoles and many vielle players’).13 Similarly, the Benedictine chronicler and poet Gilles li Muisis (c. 1272–1352) associated the citole with young clerics who used it to accompany their dances: Je vic en men enfanche festyer de chistolles / les clers parisyens revenants des escolles, / et que privéement on faisoit des karolles: / c’estoit trèstout reviaus, en riens n’estoient folles. In my youth, I saw the Parisian students / celebrating the return to the school with citoles, / and who privately danced carols: / all enjoyable, nothing extravagant.14 Li autres la citole mainne | 105 Plate 2 A citole and a vielle player accompanying a male and two females dancing. Book of Hours, 1250–75. British Library, Egerton 1151, fol. 47r (© The British Library Board) Moreover, in the 14th-century Libro de buen amor by the Spanish cleric Juan Ruiz, a poetic work considered by scholars to be an excellent record of contemporary Castilian customs,15 the citole is associated with taverns and the dancing of drunkards: ‘çitola e odrecillo… más aman la taverna e sotar con vellaco’ (‘The citole and the little bagpipe…love the tavern and dancing with the scoundrel’).16 Since the instrument appears to have been used in acoustic environments that included indoor and outdoor events with the likely participation of a noisy audience,17 we can assume that citoles had to be constructed and performed in the anticipation of a need for volume and projection. As inferred above, the use of a plectrum and a chest-level playing position would have contributed to this objective. Moreover, there may have been one further action that could have helped the players to increase resonance and volume: the strumming of combined strings. However, do the sources give weight to this supposition? There is a description in the literature that suggests that simultaneous strumming was more the norm than not. This reference, already partially quoted above, is found in the Libro de buen amor in a passage where the citole is listed as one of the instruments not liked by Muslims: Arávigo non quiere la viuela de arco / çinfonia e guitarra non son de aqueste marco / çitola e odrecillo non aman cagűil hallaco, / más aman la taverna e sotar con vellaco. The Arab does not like the vielle / the hurdy gurdy and the guitar don’t belong to his sphere / the citole and the little bagpipe don’t love the Muslim, / but love the tavern and dancing with the scoundrel.18 In consideration of this rather telling allusion, we need to explore why the citole was not welcomed within the scope of Muslim music. It is possible that this exclusion was related to 106 | The British Museum Citole divergent customs, unwanted symbolism or the association of the instrument with the culture of their Christian enemies. However, since the sharing of musical forms, terms and instruments between the two religions has been clearly highlighted by modern scholars, the answer must lie elsewhere. It is possible that the source of such rejection was related to a structural feature that was common to the bowed string and wind instruments listed by Juan Ruiz: vielles, bagpipes and hurdy-gurdies were all furnished with drones.19 If we take the use of drones as the reason why the instruments listed above were not favoured by Muslims, then we can hypothesize that the real motive was related to important diferences about sound production and musical aesthetics between the two cultures. If this is the case, we could argue that the citole, the guitarra, the vielle, the bagpipes and the hurdy gurdy were not welcomed in the Islamic world because their performance prescribed the production of drones, an efect created in plucked instruments only through the constant strumming of one or more open strings. The concept of difering attitudes towards the use of drones in the two cultures might be better supported by the tuning practices of their main string instruments. The medieval Arabic lute, as indicated by Ibn al-Munajjim and the theorist and performer al-Fārābī, did not allow the playing of open strings as drones because it was tuned in consecutive fourths.20 In other words, it was conceived as a purely melodic instrument.21 Conversely, a European music treatise known as the Summa musice composed c. 1200 informs us that during this time the strings of instruments provided with a ingerboard, including the citole, were tuned with a combination of octaves, ifths and fourths.22 This arrangement agrees with the tunings of the vielle recorded some 80 years later by Jerome of Moravia in his Tractatus de musica. In this treatise the author explains that the tuning of the open strings of the vielle to the notes d G g d’ g’ is especially recommended for the performance of secular music, a function that was on certain occasions shared with the citole.23 A tuning with ‘unisons, fourths and ifths’, such as the one illustrated by Jerome of Moravia, would have ofered all the perfect consonances of the period in the open strings. With this, players would have found a ‘harmonic pillow’ or a ‘sonorous mist’, to use Christopher Page’s reference to bourdon performance,24 which served as points of departure and resolution for their melodies. Therefore, trusting that the citole was intended to be played with drones, we can propose that players performed melodies in the higher strings, the brighter ones with more projection, while as part of the same strokes they simultaneously articulated the lower open strings or a mixture between low and high strings depending on the tuning.25 This created constant drones that gave modal support to the melodies and made the instrument vibrate fully, thus contributing to its sound projection. Other crucial elements of performance can be reconstructed by looking at the instrument’s musical repertoires and its correlation with other musical instruments. In written sources the citole is commonly associated with the performance of dance music, a function that is almost always executed in the company of the vielle.26 Good examples are found in the above cited text by Gilles li Muisis in which the citole is described as being in the hands of young clerics who perform karolles or choral dances;27 and in a passage from the 13th-century Roman de la Rose where the citole and the vielle are associated with the same type of participatory dance: ‘E baleries e queroles e ot vïeles e citholes’ (‘dances and carols on vielles and citoles’).28 Similarly, the two instruments are associated with the note, a type of courtly dance related to the estampie and the ductia,29 in the late 13th-century Dit de la panthère d’amours by Nicole de Margival: ‘En citoles et en vieles / oi faire notes nouveles’ (‘In citoles and vielles I heard played new notes’).30 The citole and vielle are further described in the context of courtly dancing in the late 14th-century Sir Launfal by Thomas Chestre: To daunce they wente, alle in same / To se hem play, hit was fair game, / A lady and a knight. / They hadde menstrales of moch honours, / Fidelers, sitolers, and trompours, / And elles hit were unright.31 However, courtly and clerical dancing are not the only contexts in which the citole is described in medieval literature. In the aforementioned passage quoted from the Libro de buen amor, the instrument is connected to dance music performed in taverns. Likewise, in Rodrigo de Reinosa’s 15th-century poem Coplas de un pastor, the citole is placed in the hands of a shepherd and in the context of rural dancing: Herte he citolada / para que salgas a bailar… / y se her la correntera, / altibaja y la cayera, / deleitosa y la trotera / huertes danzas danzar. I should play the citole, to invite you to dance… / and I can also play for you the correntera, / altibaja and the cayera, / the deleitosa and the trotera / to make you dance. The function of the citole or the citole and the vielle as accompanists to dance music is further documented by visual sources from the 14th century. Examples can be seen in a Book of Hours (British Library, Egerton 1151, fol. 47r) (Pl. 2), in the De nobilitatibus sapientiis et prudentiis regum of Walter de Milemete (Oxford, Christ Church Ms. 92 fol. 14v) and in the Queen Mary Psalter (British Library, Royal 2B. vii fol. 189r) (Pl. 3). Further depictions of the two instruments being played together can be found sculpted in the 13th-century Gelmirez Palace in Santiago de Compostela (Galicia) and in the 14th-century roof boss of Norwich Cathedral (see Chapter 2, Pl. 12). Similarly, the two instruments are depicted playing as a duo in illuminations from one of the 13th-century Cantigas de Santa Maria manuscripts (El Escorial j. b. 2 fols 29r, 39v) as well as in the Tickhill Psalter (New York Public Library, Ms Spencer 26, fol. 17r). It seems clear after scrutinizing 13th–15th century Spanish, English and French sources that one of the most important functions of the citole in these countries, if not the most central, was the performance of dance music. While we can conjecture how this type of music may have necessitated speciic ways of playing the instrument, it is better to return to the sources to see if they ofer further information. Fortunately, a speciic function of the instrument in the performance of dance music seems to be implied at least in one text, an interesting satirical passage from the Libro de buen amor by Juan Ruiz that reads: Por [entre] el su garnacho tenía tetas colgadas, / Davanle a la cinta pues que estavan dobladas, / Ca estando senzillas darl’ien so las ijadas, / A todo son de citola andarian sin ser mostradas.32 Inside her shirt her tits were hanging / They fell all the way to her waist because they were sagging / But, if they had been irm the story would have been diferent / As they would have moved correctly to the sound of the citole.33 The implication of this text is vastly important for our reconstruction because it implies that the citole was associated with the production of rhythm in the context of dance music. Obviously, it is the lack of irmness in the woman’s breasts that did not allow her to keep a rhythmically steady and measured movement of her chest. To make the image much more intense and visceral, Juan Ruiz relates this rhythmic movement to the citole, bringing to the mind of readers what was probably one of its most imperative performance features: the keeping of time and regular rhythm in the dance. Another source further supports the practice of keeping time in this context. This text is the De Musica of Johannes de Grocheio (c. 1300), which explains that in the performance of dances such as ductias and caroles (both mentioned in the Plate 3 Citole player accompanying a group of men dancing, Queen Mary Psalter, 1310–20. British Library, Royal 2B. vii, fol. 189r (© The British Library Board) Li autres la citole mainne | 107 Plate 4 Pipe and string drum player from Aragón, Spain literature in connection to the citole) it is crucial to keep a strict and controlled beat (recta percussione) ‘to measure…the movement of the one who dances’.34 Thus, we can conclude that in a proper performance of this form of dance music, the role of an accompanying instrument was to supply the dancers with a clear and steady beat and rhythm, a role that was often performed by the citole, along the lines of the sarcastic text from the Libro de buen amor. We can easily envision from modern experiences how a steady rhythmic structure can be clearly performed by a plucked string instrument. However, do the sources ofer any indication of how it was achieved by medieval players? A popular 15th-century Spanish saying might shed some light on the matter: ‘there is no need of a citole in the mill if the miller is deaf’.35 While at irst the saying does not seem to ofer any irm evidence about the way in which dance music was performed on the citole, closer analysis provides some concrete information about sound production and rhythm. First, we need to consider that in this medieval Spanish saying the noun ‘citole’ is not used to describe a musical instrument, but a lat wooden piece that hung over the stone of a mill. The function of this wooden piece was to alert the miller when the grain had run out. When the grain was inished the piece was automatically lowered to make contact with the stone. The result was a constant noise as the mill’s citole frolicked energetically against the stone until more grain was introduced. Thus, the meaning of the saying is clear: in the same way as a mill’s citole is of no beneit to a deaf miller, it is no use to give advice to those who do not 108 | The British Museum Citole have the capacity to hear or understand it.36 While the citole in the saying is not the musical instrument of our study, it is important to consider that the aural reaction is the most crucial element of the saying, probably its germ, and that the mill’s wooden device and the plucked string instrument discussed here received the same name. Since the name ‘citole’ was irst used in relation to the musical instrument (in Spain since the beginning of the 13th century),37 it is likely that the use of the same term to describe the mill’s noisy wooden piece had something to do with the acoustic perception of the former. This was the case in England, for example, where the raucous and repeated noise produced by the mill’s wooden piece reminded people of the sound produced by a clapper; thus, the little device was then known as a mill’s clapper. Consequently, we ind in an 18th-century Spanish-English dictionary that the Spanish word citola (citole) is translated both as a musical instrument known as the cittern and as ‘the clapper of a mill’.38 There are some other examples in which the name of a musical instrument or the verb that expressed its playing style was related to a speciic sound, noise or action ultimately not connected to it. For example, the 17th-century expression ‘dar a la matraca’ (‘to sound the ratchet’) meant the production of an annoying and repetitive sound. Since the incessant sound of the ratchet could be quite irritating, its aural sensation was used as a model for an amusing saying described by Sebastián de Covarrubias in his Tesoro de la Lengua Castellana o Española (1611). In his dictionary the author states that the expression ‘dar a la matraca’ was used to refer to the constant jokes sufered by irst-year undergraduates at the University of Salamanca.39 Similarly, the verb castañear, which literally means to play the castanets, is also used in modern Latin American Spanish to onomatopoeically describe the sound produced by teeth chattering. Moreover, in Catalan the verb atabalar, which refers to the playing of a drum (tabal),40 is used today to express the action of overwhelming or tiring someone. As we can see, in all these cases the common sound of the instruments mentioned is used to express a type of physical or psychological response similar to the one created in the listener during their performance. Thus, it seems reasonable to think that in late medieval Spain the noise produced by the mill’s clapper, known in fact as the citole, was associated with the sound generated during the performance of the musical instrument of our study. This sound, based on what we can gather from the noise produced by a mill’s wooden piece when violently bouncing and striking the stone, was probably then percussive and constant. With this in mind, we can hypothesize that medieval citole players, in the context of dance music, usually illed in the basic elements of the rhythmic structure of a dance piece with a constant and energetic subdivision of the beat which made the instrument sound somehow raucous, insisting and tense. This type of rhythmic accompaniment can be observed in diferent plucked and even bowed string instruments of Spain, Latin America and Eastern Europe. Examples are the rabel, a rustic iddle from Cantabria (Spain), the Peruvian charango and the Romanian lute known as kobza, among others. We should now turn, or better revisit, one further piece of evidence related to the citole’s performance practice. As we have seen, visual and written sources often portray a citole paired in performance with a vielle.41 By speculating that the two instruments were primarily paired for some musical and acoustic reasons that fulilled the expectation of medieval performers and their audience, we have to ask ourselves what the function of each instrument was when performed together and the inal aural product of their combination. We might ind an answer to all these questions by combining what we know about how bowed string instruments function in general with the diferent elements of the citole’s practice, reconstructed so far in this study. Taking into consideration the distinct manner in which strings are set to sound in both instruments, the type of articulation possible on each of them and the way notes are pressed and tuned over their ingerboards, it is tempting to conclude that in the viellecitole duo the function of the plucked string instrument was as follows: to help clarify the blurry articulation of the vielle with its sharp attack;42 tighten ensemble playing through its constant rhythmic subdivision; and secure the intonation of the bowed instrument with its droning and its frets. Furthermore, the citole also helped to increase the projection and volume of instruments through the addition and mixture of harmonics that increased the overall efect of the ensemble. All of these diferent types of elements can actually still be seen in some modern traditional music duos that are direct descendants of other medieval instrumental pairs. For example, in the bagpipe and pipe and tabor duo from Catalonia (sac de gemecs and labiol and tamborí), the fast, immediate and clean articulation (attack) of the tabor pipe clears and deines the blurry articulation of the bagpipe, an instrument where attack and separation of the notes is only possible through ornamentations since the mouth of the player is not in direct contact with the reed. Furthermore, the tabor, with its constant rhythm, keeps the two wind instruments playing together while marking the beat and its subdivisions for the dancers.43 Likewise, in the pipe and string drum combination performed by a single player, another ancient instrumental pairing that can still be witnessed in Aragón (Pl. 4), the percussion instrument not only supports the melody of the pipe with a ‘sonorous mist’, a surrounding harmonic sound created by the simultaneous striking of strings tuned in octaves, fourths and ifths, but also provides the rhythm that accompanies dances and processional music. Conclusion In summary, fragmentary information scattered throughout various sources and the observation of some modern music traditions have helped us to reconstruct diferent elements of the citole’s performance practice. Some of these factors, including its playing position, the use of a plectrum and the strumming of all strings, seemed to have been directly connected to the need for sound projection in noisy places. At the same time, the use of frets and drones also responded to intellectual and aesthetic tendencies of the era that prescribed tuning and modality. Finally, percussive and continuous rhythmic strumming and drone playing seemed to have been one of the most important elements of the citole’s performance practice. Together these factors helped to project the citole’s sound, guided the steps of dancers and, in combination with the vielle, kept ensembles playing tightly by clarifying the attack of the bowed strings and by setting up a conventional model for tuning. Thus, we can imagine that the clerics described by Gilles li Muisis used the citole to accompany their carolling because with it they could aspire to perform well-projected, precisely tuned, clearly articulated and rhythmically driven music, the type necessary to accompany their choral dances. Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 Good examples are found in the often reproduced depictions of the instrument from the 13th-century Cantigas de Santa Maria (El Escorial, j. b. 2 fols 29r, 39v) and the 14th-century ‘Queen Mary Psalter’ (British Library, Royal 2 B vii, fols 177r, 282r, 203r), Lisle Psalter (British Library, Arundel 83 II, fol. 134v), Ormesby Psalter (Bodleian Library, Douce 366, fol. 9v), Cancioneiro da Ajuda (Biblioteca da Ajuda, fol. 69) and a stained glass window from Lincoln Cathedral. See Rey 1975, 47–8. I am indebted to Pepe Rey for supplying me with this picture. See Sawa 1989, 106. For this text and its translation, see McGee 1990, 114, 168. ‘Et quod hoc verum sit, hoc manifeste demonstrat Boetius in monocordo et in aliis musicis instrumentis secundum mensuram localem; ita videlicet, quod si accipiatur corda alicujus instrumenti, utpote cythare, vielle, vel cytole, et [Gamma] grecum in capite ipsius corde ponatur, et inde in linea que sonanti corde subjacet, novem partes dividantur equales, et in termino prime partis juxta gammam a prima littera nostra ponatur, et erit tibi tonus.’ Lambertus, Tractatus de musica I, 257–8. For a commentary on this text, see Page 1979, 82. ‘Instrumentum vero, aliud practicae, aliud theoricae. Theoricae vero instrumentum, est inquisitio seu demonstratio proportionum, sonorum et vocum. Practicae vero sic: aliud est naturale, aliud est artiiciale. Naturale est, ut pulmo, guttur, lingua, dentes, palatum et coetera membra specie alia, sed principaliter forma vocis est epiglottis. Artiiciale est, ut organa, viella, cithara, cistolla, psalterium et cetera.’ Anonymous, Quatuor Principalia Musica XV, 205. For a commentary on this text, see Page 1979. For information about the monochord and its use to indicate the pitches in Pythagorean tuning, see Bent 1984, 4–6. For this text and its study, see Rey and Navarro 1993, 36. The translation is mine. For this text and its study, see ibid. The translation is mine. This information was given to me by the Spanish and Oriental music expert Pepe Morales Luna. See Dicionario do dicionarios do galego medieval of the Instituto da Lingua Galega (online dictionary; available from sli.uvigo.es/ DDGM/). For the text, see Victorio 1981, 167. The translation is mine. Kervyn de Lettenhove 1882, 240. For the use of the term karolle in relation to a choral dance and the reconstruction of its choreography, see Mullally 2011, 41–50. For essays on this subject, see de Lope 1984. Ruiz 1996, stanza 1019. The translation is mine. On the character and behaviour of the audience during this period, see Page 1997, 639–59. It seems safe to assume that the audience during this period and the events mentioned was not quiet. Ruiz 1996, s. 1516. The drone in a musical instrument is an element of the instrument that allows for a speciic note or notes to sound continuously. The tuning of the open strings has been reconstructed as g-c-f-bb. See Sawa 1989, 75, 78–9. Ethnomusicologists have shown that in the ‘ūd (Arabic lute), the drone string is missing and the rich amalgam of melodic modes of Arabic music are supposed to be played not only on one string, but spread over all the available ones. Gerson-Kiwi 1972, 13. For this text and its study, see Page 1991, 87, 169. For this text and its study, see Page 1979, 83–4; and 1986, 64–9. See Page 1986, 128. Li autres la citole mainne | 109 25 Jerome of Moravia’s recommended tuning for secular music presents such characteristics. See Page 1979, 83–4. 26 The connection with dance music makes us wonder if in other passages where the instruments are described without any mention of dances they are used as an incidental reference to them. 27 For the use of the term karolle in relation to a choral dance and the reconstruction of its choreography, see Mullally 2011, 41–50. 28 de Lorris and de Meung 1970–4, verse 18353. 29 McGee 1989, 11–14. 30 de Margival 1883, v. 157. 31 Chestre 1960, v. 664–9. 32 Ruiz 1996, s. 1019. 33 I have based my translation on the interpretation of the passage given by Alberto Blecua: ‘Her breast hanged under her dress reaching her waist. They moved of beat since they did not learn the sound of the citole’ (‘Los pechos le colgaban debajo del vestido y le daban a la cintura. Se moverían al compás sin haber aprendido el son de la cítola’). See Ruiz 1996, 252. 34 ‘Sed recta percussione eo quod ictus eam mensurant et motum facientis et excitant animum hominis ad ornate movendum secundum artem quam ballare vocant, et eius motum mensurant in ductiis et choreis’ (‘[A dance needs] a correct [strict] beat because beats measure the ductia and the movement of one who dances it, and [these beats] excite people to move in an elaborate fashion according to the art that they call “dancing”, and they measure the movement [of this art] in ductia and in caroles’). The 110 | The British Museum Citole 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 text has been taken from Page 1993, 31–2. The translation is mine. For the need of a strong pulse and an organized rhythmic pattern for all dance music, see Sutton et. al. 2001, vol. 6, 880. For more information about choral dances, see Mullally 2011, 77–84. For the use of percussion in this type of repertoire, see Molina 2010, 166–71. First cited in de Rojas 1499, Act XVI. For these and other similar explanations of the expression, see the Senilloquium, a collection of sayings compiled during the late 15th century. For a modern edition of this collection, see Cantalapiedra and Moreno 2006, 245. See Rey and Navarro 1993, 35–7. Diccionario Español e Inglés 1768, 170. Tesoro de la Lengua Castellana o Española 1611, 543. Tabal was the name of the drum in medieval Catalan. See the Vocabulari de la llengua catalana medieval de Lluís Faraudo da SaintGermain of the Institut d’Estudis Catalans (online dictionary; available from www.iec.cat/faraudo/). See Wright 1977, 27. ‘Attack’ here refers to the beginning of the sound produced when the plectrum plucks a string or strums multiple strings at the same time. The bright sound produced is a combination of the material of the plectrum, the type and tension of the string and the use of frets. This was explained to me by the Catalan music specialist and bagpiper Francesc Sans i Bonet. Appendix A A Musical Instrument Fit For a Queen: The Metamorphosis of a Medieval Citole Philip Kevin, James Robinson, Susan La Niece, Caroline Cartwright and Chris Egerton This article was irst published in The British Museum Technical Bulletin, volume 2, 13–27, in 2008. Summary The British Museum’s citole (1963,1002.1) is one of Britain’s earliest extant stringed instruments. Dating from around 1300–1330, its survival can be attributed to three factors: the quality of craftsmanship with its richly carved decorative elements, its association with Elizabeth I of England (1558–1603) and her favourite Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, and its modiication to keep pace with changing musical fashion. The refurbishment of the Medieval galleries at the museum during 2007–2008 allowed an opportunity to re-evaluate past treatments of the instrument and investigate its present form scientiically. Throughout its history the instrument has undergone periodic repair, including the replacement of soundboards, inger-boards, strings and other ittings, but its magniicently carved boxwood (Buxus sempervirens) body, neck and headpiece remain virtually intact. Detailed examination of the citole components prior to and during conservation revealed previously suspected but unseen alterations. Radiography has been used to study features of the original construction as well as internal alterations which show that it could have been played with a bow. The metal elements have been identiied by X-ray luorescence analysis, while microscopic analysis enabled the identiication of the wooden components. Interpreting past restorations and modiications allowed for informed judgements to be made about conservation treatments, while making more accessible important information about the instrument’s past. Introduction The British Museum’s citole (1963,1002.1: Figure 1) is an object of extreme rarity. A virtuoso example of the Medieval woodcarver’s craft, it is one of perhaps only four stringed instruments of comparable quality to have survived from the Medieval period. It is, however, a confusing hybrid. Part citole, part violin, it was described as a gittern by Francis Galpin in 1910 [1] and the term stuck until 1977 when Laurence Wright extensively revised the terminology Figure 1 The British Museum citole (1963,1002.1) after recent conservation treatment: length 610mm, height 147mm and width 186mm Appendix A | 111 surrounding the gittern and related instruments.[2] It was described as a ‘gittern’ (in inverted commas) by Mary Remnant and Richard Marks when they published their authoritative work on the instrument in 1980 [3; p. 83]. The inverted commas relected Remnant’s reluctance to accept Wright’s recent judgement, which she expressed in the following way: “While Wright’s reasons for changing the terminology certainly carry weight, and have been readily accepted by a good many organologists, there are others who feel the need for greater time in which to consider the matter before changing the long-accepted terminology”. After an extensive period for relection, the British Museum co-hosted an informal seminar on the subject with the New Metropolitan University of London in 2003 and took the decision to adopt the term ‘citole’. The details of which characteristics precisely deine the respective instruments remain subject to a degree of scholarly discussion. However, the citole is a precursor of the modern guitar and is characterized by its lat back made from a single piece of wood, while the gittern is the precursor of the lute and has a rounded back achieved by the use of several jointed lat pieces of wood. Although the back of the British Museum citole is slightly vaulted, it is constructed from only one piece of boxwood (Buxus sempervirens). Indeed, the head, neck and the entire body of the citole are carved from one piece of boxwood; the vaulted back is a design variant rather than a diference in construction. Alterations have been made to the citole at several times in the past, including its conversion into a violin. Among the changes is the insertion of a silver plate above the pegbox, engraved with the arms of Elizabeth I (reigned 1558–1603), together with those of Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester. The citole will take a prominent place in the new Medieval gallery due to open in 2009; this has provided an opportunity to improve the display of the instrument and – during the intervening period – permitted both organological study and an assessment of its aesthetic qualities. To these ends conservators, curators and scientists have re-evaluated this unique object, building on previous studies that revealed signiicant information about the instrument and its conversion, as well as highlighting areas that require further investigation. The conservation of the British Museum citole allowed a multi-faceted approach involving arresting further deterioration and preparation for display in tandem with the scientiic investigation of the materials, original methods of construction and later conversion. X-radiography was used to clarify the internal structure, particularly the evidence for alterations. The X-ray ilms were scanned using an Agfa Figure 2. The tailpiece button, plate and screw 112 | The British Museum Citole RadView digitizer with a 50 μm pixel size and a 12-bit resolution, to allow digital enhancement of the images. To emphasize edges and discontinuities, the images were subject to greyscale manipulation. Tiny wood samples (c.1 mm3) for species identiication were taken from as many component parts of the citole as could be sampled unobtrusively. Their anatomical structure was characterized by optical microscopy using a Leica Aristomet biological microscope with a range of magniications from ×50 to ×800. The other materials were identiied by non-destructive X-ray luorescence analysis (XRF) using a Bruker Artax XRF spectrometer with a molybdenum target X-ray tube rated up to 40 W and operated at 50 kV and 800 μA. Medieval musical instruments Musical instruments are made to be played; they have active lives that can see injury, loss or replacement by a iner model. Each of the known surviving extant Medieval stringed instruments has been highly treasured in its day and by successive generations. All except one, however, has seen alterations relecting the changing needs of musicians or owners. A violeta from the Convent of Corpus Domini in Bologna dates from the ifteenth century and is preserved there as one of the precious relics that furnish the shrine of S. Caterina de’Vigri. Its relatively obscure location and sacred context account for its preservation, which has left it largely intact with little or no alteration [4]. Two ifteenth-century Italian instruments, a mandora (64.101.1409) at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York and a rebec (sam. inv no. 433) at the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna, bear some comparison with the citole, particularly in their elaborately carved surfaces decorated with emphatically secular subject matter and in their handles, which terminate in dragons’ heads. Neither functions convincingly as a musical instrument but they have long been valued as works of art. Both testify to the association between love and music. The back of the mandora is carved with a courting couple beneath a tree that contains a igure of cupid; the back of the rebec is carved with the igure of a naked woman, possibly Venus. The citole’s romantic connotations are irmly ixed in the later period of its existence when it was converted to a violin and exchanged as a gift between Elizabeth I and her favourite, Robert Dudley. The royal connection is documented in the form of a silver plate covering the pegbox, engraved with the arms of Elizabeth and Dudley, which was introduced in 1578 when the citole was converted into a violin. The year 1578 is provided by a small silver plate, which carries the initials ‘IP’ and the date, Figure 2. The plate is positioned at the back of the citole, above the trefoil where a threaded screw-ixing passes through, securing a lion-headed button on the front. Both were inserted as part of the restringing of the instrument and are essential for keeping the tailpiece in place. The metal of the engraved plate and the lion-headed button was identiied by XRF as a silver-copper alloy with trace levels (less than 1%) of lead occurring as an impurity in the silver. Both are gilded by the mercury (ire-gilding) method, and both this and the alloy composition are consistent with the date on the button plate. The British Museum citole dates from the period around 1300–1330 and is the earliest of the four survivals. Abundant representations of citoles in the visual arts show that the instrument was in use from the late twelfth century in Spain and Italy and from the thirteenth century in northern Europe. The gradual movement of the instrument from south to north may well relect the inluence of Islamic musical instruments on the development of the citole. The culturally mixed communities of southern Spain and Italy, which saw dialogue between Christian, Jew and Muslim, enjoyed a pivotal role in the transmission of ideas during this period. Knowledge of music, mathematics, science, medicine, art and literature was promulgated along the same routes through translated manuscripts, migrant physicians and exported goods. Spain was undoubtedly important in establishing an awareness of the citole; it was connected to the rest of Europe by the vast number of pilgrims who visited Santiago de Compostela, and through the various dynastic marriages that saw royal brides moving to and from Spain with all the diplomatic gifts that attended such transactions. When Eleanor, the daughter of Henry II, married Alfonso VII in 1169 it can only be imagined how the international courtship was conducted, but music, the language of love, must surely have played its part. By the time that Eleanor of Castile married Edward I in 1254, the citole was probably well established in England [5]. A solitary citolist, ‘Janyn le citoler’ performed at the ceremony to celebrate the knighting of Eleanor’s son, the future Edward II, at Westminster in 1306 [3; p. 89], although the musician probably did not play solo, as the citole was most frequently used to accompany other instruments. Revealingly, at the ceremony at Westminster there were 19 trumpeters and 16 harpists, instrumentalists of suicient stature for an event of national importance. The citole was regarded as a soft or bas instrument and was most usually played in a domestic or courtly setting [6; p. 4]. It was designed to be plucked with a plectrum and most of the depictions show it being played in this way, although other illustrations show it being strummed without a plectrum. Undoubtedly capable of carrying a tune, as modern replicas of the British Museum citole have demonstrated, citoles may have performed a limited repertoire and were probably used mainly to keep time by playing the same few notes repeatedly [7]. This understanding is supported by representations of musicians playing citoles, the majority of which show the player’s hand coming up from under the centre of the instrument. This approach would allow adequate movement only to play the drone chords satisfactorily [3; p. 88]. It is not surprising, therefore, that the citole is usually depicted with other instruments, principally iddles, Figure 3. The gifting of the citole between Elizabeth and Dudley and its conversion to a violin demonstrate how the instrument was held in high regard some 250 years after it was made. The value placed on it was not inspired by the expense of the raw material nor by its virtue as a musical instrument (the citole was distinctly out of date by about 1400) but by the extraordinary richness and quality of the carving that covers its neck and sides. Figure 3 A fourteenth-century Parisian ivory panel (1971,0501.1) that illustrates a citole/gittern (top left ) being played with other instruments: this instrument has been described recently as both a gittern and a citole; a gittern would normally have a characteristic pear-shape with a sickle-shaped pegbox The carvings The ine, dense structure of boxwood (Figure 4) is ideal for intricate, detailed carving and can be highly polished, Figure 5. There is no narrative to the design of the carvings, which seem to develop in a gravity-defying, proportiondenying mass that emerges from the mouth of a dragon. In general the scenes are intimately connected with the dense, dark forest which was an important feature of Medieval life. Pastoral scenes such as a swineherd tending to his hogs (Figure 6) and a woodman at work with his axe are juxtaposed with vigorous hunting scenes (Figure 7) that dominate much of the composition. Each of these topics had great resonance for a Medieval audience since they signiied speciic occupations for particular months of the year. The swineherd knocking down acorns to feed his hogs was used to illustrate the months of November or December in the Medieval calendar; the woodman chopping branches was chosen as an appropriate activity for March; while the hunt was regarded as a suitable pastime for May, the month for lovers. The character of the carving contributes enormously to the citole’s popular appeal today; careful scrutiny is rewarded by the discovery of creatures of the forest within a thicket of mulberry, hawthorn, oak and vine leaves in a mysterious world occupied by men and hybrid monsters, Figure 8. Appendix A | 113 Figure 4. Thin section of boxwood (Buxus sempervirens) Figure 5. A carved gargoyle igure from the back of the citole The magniicent carved dragon headpiece can be identiied as a wyvern, an ancient variety of the imaginary species ‘draco’ (dragon), Figure 9. The wyvern was originally thought of as a forest-dwelling creature more akin to a snake than the ire-breathing monster normally envisaged as a typical dragon. The four-legged dragon of popular renown seems to have been introduced around 1400 by the English heralds [8]. A wyvern has two wings and only two legs, and is sometimes depicted in manuscripts, carvings and heraldry with a knotted tail known as ‘nowed’ or sometimes noué (from the French for ‘knotted’). A smaller example of the creature is carved on the side panel of the citole doing battle with a half-man, half-bird, Figure 10. The green eyes of the creature are leaded glass and each glass eye is set into metal foil or a cell made of brass (copper-zinc alloy). The orientation of the wyvern headpiece on the citole is that of a wyvern regardant (looking back over its shoulder) with its body and long tail (which trifurcates toward its end) coiling around beneath the ingerboard and around the neck aperture. Visible through an openwork panel on the side is a somewhat worn, golden-coloured material, tinged green in places. This proved to be a sheet of lax ibre paper with a coating of gold-coloured brass paint, Figure 11. It is by no means certain that it is original; the openwork panel is removable, presumably for the very purpose of accommodating an attractive coloured backing material, which would not have been diicult to replace at any stage. There is a detached element of carving from the back of the neck panel, an owl, also carved from boxwood. Although its location has been identiied, it could not be secured back in place. Ethical considerations for restoration The conservation of historical musical instruments raises many ethical considerations. To arrest deterioration of what was once a playing object often requires an interventive approach. Caple states that: “restoration can be seen as covering the scars and damage of the past, and thus distorting the past by beautifying it, and denying part of the history of the object. Equally, avoiding restoration leaves every object looking broken or damaged” [9; p. 128]. Musical instruments, by their very nature, have continually been repaired and it is often expected that these objects can 114 | The British Museum Citole be picked up and played even when hundreds of years old. In reality, the overwhelming majority are of course not played; continued use would inevitably lead to the wearing out of parts, and also put many important instruments at considerable risk. Stringed and bowed instruments, particularly violins, have been described as: “almost unique in the way they have lent themselves to continued use, repair, restoration and conservation” [10; p. 98]. The museum as custodian ofers the instrument a new life, one of display and interpretation. Barclay identiies three options for care of instruments namely: Currency, or maintenance in a working state possibly with modiications or alterations to sustain functionality. Conservation or preserving the physical integrity of an instrument using minimal intervention and scientiically based investigation and documentation methods. Restoration or recreation of a known earlier state of an instrument using craft intervention and substitution or addition of materials [11; p. 22]. Barclay’s approach to the care of instruments further argues that it is desirable that treatments should, where possible, encompass combinations of two, if not all three, of these options. Watson highlights two approaches to the treatment of historical musical instruments, describing the “two voices” of instruments: the musical voice, its musical quality and the experience and emotions that it evokes, and the historical voice, by which the instrument reveals its past through the historical evidence therein [12; p. 15]. The retention or recreation of the musical voice for the citole was not considered a viable option because of the vulnerable condition of the instrument and its uniqueness. The need to protect this ‘historical voice’ was judged to be of paramount importance. It was, however, felt that with minimal intervention, a balance could be struck between the two ‘voices’, by displaying the citole so it appears in a condition that closely resembles a playable instrument. This in turn helps to fulil an important aim of museums – to enhance understanding and interpretability without compromising historical value. Watson, although referring speciically to organs, suggests a need for urgency that applies to all historical musical instruments: “… that we collaboratively discover ways we can perform restorations of historically signiicant organs using methods that will respect and Figure 6. Carving of a swine herder and hogs Figure 7. Carving of hunting scene including a man, hound and fox Figure 8. Carving of a hybrid archer and rabbit Appendix A | 115 Figure 9 (above left). Carved head of the dragon or wyvern Figure 10 (above right). Carving of a hybrid creature battling a wyvern Figure 11 (left). Detail of the brass-coloured paint on the paper beneath the pierced wood panel protect this non-renewable resource of historical information” [12; p. 23]. The conservation of instruments will often require a restorative approach; likewise restoring an instrument will require consideration of the conservation impact of the chosen techniques. Historical signiicance, the removal of original material, maker’s intent and the requirements and expectations of curator, owner and other stakeholders must all be taken into account. It is important to consider that objects change over time and this evolution becomes part of their signiicance and character. Conservation assessment To assist in identifying the features of the citole referred to in the following sections, an illustrated glossary is provided in Figure 12. Prior to conservation, a number of past repairs and replacements were discussed by conservators, curators and musical instrument specialists and judged to be not in keeping or historically correct for the instrument and its context within the new Medieval gallery. The instrument was dusty, both within the recesses of the carving and below the bridge and strings. There were greasy marks and ingerprints on the soundboard as well as surface dirt. The citole had been strung with a mismatched set of gut strings, which was further confused by the winding of the four strings onto three pegs (one peg head had snapped and the head is lost), Figure 13. Pye states: “poor condition may mask signiicance” [13]; failure to remove the mismatched strings – which were not, of course, original – and to run each string to an individual peg, would prevent a correct interpretation 116 | The British Museum Citole of the object. The option of retaining the existing strings would serve only to highlight a poorly executed past repair. The abraded and scratched condition of the varnish layer on the soundboard was considered unsightly and could be misconstrued as evidence of lack of care. If the instrument were in use the varnish might be repaired and, equally, an item of furniture within a collection or museum might have this protective inish retouched to aid correct interpretation. The National Trust manual of housekeeping recommends that the inish and appearance of an instrument may “require attention” depending on the context in which it is to be viewed [14]. For the citole this context was as a central focus within the new gallery. A length of copper alloy wire twisted at the end secured the tailpiece in place, Figure 14. This old repair was judged to utilize a material that was unsuitable for the purpose and would not have been used on a citole or a violin. Furthermore the sharp ends of the wire were abrading the inish below the tailpiece button, so that retaining the wire would lead to further deterioration. The broken peg end revealed evidence of a previous repair in the form of old proteinaceous glue residues around the break. It is likely that the (now lost) peg head had snapped at the point where it emerged from the pegbox and was adhered in position with this glue. End-grain gluing is prone to failure and once this join failed part of the peg became lost. For future preservation it is important to spread the tension of the strings evenly over the bridge, particularly as the bridge is not ixed but is held in position by the string tension. To continue to secure strings to three pegs would put Figure 12. An illustrated glossary of the parts of the citole Figure 13. Detail of the broken peg head before conservation the bridge at risk of misalignment and possible collapse. However, if the shaft of the existing peg were retained, it would be necessary to drill into it to dowel or splice on a new head in order to ofer suicient purchase to take the strain of the string. These options would involve unnecessary loss of original material. The alternative removal and replacement with a replica peg would allow tensioning of the fourth string while improving the appearance of the instrument. The broken shaft could be archived for future study. The glued joint or seam between the body and soundboard had begun to open up and fail on both sides and above the top block near the neck of the instrument, Figure 15. It is important to re-glue failing joints as this “restores the natural integrity” of the instrument preventing further opening up along the seam [14]. This is particularly important if the instrument is strung. Old animal glue will become brittle over time and can often deteriorate further due to microbiological attack in incorrect environmental conditions. Stresses induced by tuning the instrument will also cause glue lines to open up. These stresses are accentuated by the difering materials that are chosen for their acoustic values. For example, the soundboard is made of a softer and more pliable wood (spruce; Picea abies), which will vibrate and move under compressive and tensile forces. The option of complete removal of the soundboard to reveal the alterations during the violin conversion was considered. X-radiographs (Figure 16) showed clearly the internal method of conversion, with a false back let into the body of the instrument. It was felt to be too risky to remove the soundboard as the edges were planed or chamfered of to a thin section where they were joined to the body making them extremely vulnerable to breaking. Furthermore, there would be inevitable damage to the inish when large areas of sound glue were softened. The X-radiographs ofered suicient information for the study of the interior and the former state of the instrument, rendering soundboard removal unnecessary. A number of small inlaid pieces of wood along the ingerboard had lifted and had accumulated dirt underneath. It is essential with all inlays that they be securely re-laid to prevent snagging and subsequent loss. Modern nails had been used to secure the ingerboard to the neck and were visible in the X-radiographs, Figure 17. Although these nails are also evidence of a poorly executed older repair, their removal would have jeopardized the delicate inlayed ingerboard. The heads of the nails had been punched below the surface of the ingerboard and the indentation had been illed with a wax-like substance that now stood out against the colour of the wood. The ingerboard is made from wood from the wayfaring tree (Viburnum lantana), a tree that was sometimes coppiced to produce straight wood. The ingerboard is wedge-shaped, Appendix A | 117 truncated, Figure 19. The pegbox has been hollowed out and reshaped, changing the original coniguration and removing c.25 mm of the neck length. All these modiications have been variously interpreted and constitute a record of this instrument’s historical evolution. Preserving this very early, possibly unique evidence intact is essential for future research. Summary of justiication and extent of treatment Figure 14. Detail of the copper wire tie from the tailpiece to the button before conservation consistent with sixteenth-century stringed instrument design and construction. Beneath it is another wedge (Figure 18) made from yew (Taxus baccata) of uncertain date. It is likely that the surface of the original neck has been planed down in a previous attempt to modify the citole, resulting in the loss of part of the original carving, which now appears The approach to the treatment involved restoring the physical integrity of the instrument, prevention of further deterioration to the inish, and allowing the instrument to be correctly interpreted. The securing of the soundboard to the body was required to prevent further opening up of the joint. A broken peg head was preventing the tensioning of the strings and so unbalancing the bridge. Movement or collapse of the bridge would further damage the area of inish below the bridge feet. It was therefore decided that a fourth working peg would give an even tension across the bridge, and that the remaining broken shaft should be archived after the wood had been identiied. The wire attaching the tailpiece to the tailpiece button was also damaging the surface of the trefoil where it was twisted together; the use of wire showed a lack of understanding of the correct method of attaching these components, i.e. with tailgut. The inlay on the ingerboard was lifting and in danger of becoming lost; the re-laying of these inlays was also vital to restoring the physical integrity of the instrument. Attaching the strings to too few pegs was confusing and misleading for both visitors and organologists. This misleading coniguration of the instrument raised a further consideration; that is, should the instrument be seen to be in Figure 15. Detail of the seam between the body and the soundboard showing the opening of the join Figure 16. X-radiograph through the side of the citole revealing the internal false back (indicated with an arrow), parallel to the soundboard 118 | The British Museum Citole contact with the ingerboard would exert uneven forces on the bridge. As discussed above, the bridge must be held by an even, controlled downward force from the tensioned strings to avoid potential collapse or movement. It was therefore considered necessary to raise the nut on this instrument (to lift the strings of the ingerboard) for two reasons: to allow the bridge to be held by tension alone and to enhance the understanding of the citole as a playing instrument. Treatment The old gut strings (made from sheep intestine) were removed and archived. The surfaces of the soundboard, ingerboard, body and carving were dry cleaned by brushing with a soft (sable) brush and vacuuming with a low-suction vacuum cleaner with nylon net ilter. Smaller brushes were required to remove dust from the recesses of the carved areas. Chemsponge® (vulcanised rubber) was used to trap and further remove surface dirt. The failing glue seam between the soundboard and instrument body was investigated. A thin metal spatula was Figure 17. X-radiograph through the side of the neck revealing a pin and two large nails that were used to ix the latest ingerboard. The features that appear darker in the image are more dense. The four pegs can be seen end-on behind the dragon, with the broken peg at the top; the edge of the internal false back is the dark feature seen at the bottom, right of centre a playable condition (although obviously not playable) to allow a better understanding of the instrument and the maker’s intent? This consideration was balanced with the aesthetic requirement of providing an appropriate level of care to this important instrument. The modern bridge was not in keeping with the style of an early instrument and it was considered a poor replacement. An electrotype dating from 1869 (discussed later) shows a diferent – equally historically incorrect – bridge, while a photograph of the citole from 1903 showed that the strings were then no longer attached and no bridge was present [15]. On balance, it was felt that making a new replacement in a more suitable form was appropriate, as it would restore the instrument to an earlier state and allow a better appreciation of its form. The top nut of an instrument elevates the strings above its ingerboard by an amount that allows clear vibration of the strings without hindrance. The citole ingerboard is curved convexly along its length, causing undesirable string contact along the surface. Any instrument in this state would not be playable because the strings could not vibrate freely. The unusual visual appearance of strings lying on the ingerboard would confuse many of those who have some understanding of functioning instruments and how they should look. Furthermore, allowing the strings to remain in Figure 18. Detail of the additional citole ingerboard wedge Figure 19. Detail of the truncated carving on the neck of the citole Appendix A | 119 narrowest end of the peg and lightly tapped; this freed the broken shaft from the pegbox. A complete peg was removed and a mould was taken for a cast to be made with coloured resin. As the resin proved too brittle to use for the whole peg, a turned wooden shaft was grafted to the resin replica peg head to improve its functional strength. The material of the now-archived broken peg was identiied as boxwood. Bridge Figure 20. The new bridge itted to the citole after conservation inserted into the open seam and run along it until it met with resistance. The gap was held open with metal spatulas at intervals along the glue line and microcrystalline wax (Renaissance wax) was applied to protect the inish (varnish) on the areas above and below the glue line. (Renaissance wax is used to protect varnished surfaces from moisture [16, 17] and to act as a inal protective layer or polish.) A 5% solution of Laponite RD® (a synthetic colloidal thixotropic gel-like clay) in water was inserted into the seam on top of the residual glue and covered with Clingilm® (low-density polyethylene) to slow down evaporation. After 30 minutes, the Laponite was removed and the glue surfaces cleaned with moist cotton wool swabs. Fish glue (gelatine, water and <1% phenol) was applied to the glue line within the seam and both soundboard and body were clamped in position. When partially gelled, the excess glue was removed from the surface. Pegs It was necessary to soften the old glue on the broken peg end to enable removal. The surrounding area of wood on the pegbox cheek was coated with Renaissance wax to protect the inish. Laponite was applied and covered as described above. After 20 minutes the Laponite had softened and partially absorbed the animal glue, permitting its easy removal with a moist cotton wool swab. It is advisable to remove tight pegs from their peg holes by rotating and applying a light pulling pressure to prevent damage to the cheeks of the pegbox. However, as the peg head was missing a piece of wood of the same diameter was placed against the The modern bridge made from maple (Acer platanoides) was removed and archived and a period design maple bridge was made and colour matched to the soundboard, Figure 20. The bridge was ‘itted’ to the curved soundboard surface by carefully sculpting and trimming away its feet using a scalpel, until a good it with the curvature was achieved. Many modern luthiers use abrasive papers to it bridges, but Weisshaar and Shipman state “that a bridge should be itted entirely with a knife” [18]. The correct height and curvature of the top edge of the bridge were determined by itting the two outside strings temporarily and measuring the heights of the strings above the ingerboard. A working height was estimated and the bridge was trimmed and shaped accordingly. Top nut Setting up the citole as an ostensibly playable instrument required the ivory nut to be raised by approximately 2 mm by means of a balsa wood block of the same dimensions glued underneath. The ivory nut was then glued into position with cold-setting ish glue, a treatment that is considered to be fully removable. The combination of the raised nut and a replacement bridge of correct height lifted the strings completely clear the ingerboard surface. The only other option of raising the strings would have been by using a much higher bridge, but the resulting appearance would have been strange and outside the normal range of bridge heights. Adjustment of the top nut was the key factor that permitted the instrument to appear playable while allowing it to remain stable when on display. Tailpiece and ixing The copper alloy wire tie was cut away to prevent the twisted ends of the wire from damaging the inish. The tailpiece button ixing was removed, photographed and replaced after the application of Telon (polytetraluoroethylene; PTFE) Figure 21. Engraving of the citole 1776 (published by Sir J. Hawkins): British Library C.45.f.4-8. Reproduced by permission of the British Library Board. All rights reserved 120 | The British Museum Citole tape to the thread to take up slack/play between the screw thread and the barrel nut end. The tailpiece was removed and cleaned. It was measured and photographed, as it is believed that originally the tailpiece terminated in a point, as illustrated in an eighteenth-century engraving, Figure 21. The tailpiece, if contemporary with the initial conversion, is a very rare example of an early violin tailpiece and it is interesting to note that it, too, is made from boxwood. At the bottom edge of the tailpiece (the end tied to the button) are two grooves that are likely to be vestiges of the two original holes through which the tailpiece was secured to the button with the tailgut, Figure 22. At some point in the instrument’s past, perhaps because this area of the tailpiece had become weak or damaged, it has either broken away or was removed. The tailpiece was remounted using a new natural gut tie in a position suggested by Hawkins’s engraving, Figure 21. Restringing Gut strings were used on early violins and a modern replica set, equivalent in type and thickness to early strings, was obtained from a specialist string supplier. The strings were tied to the tailpiece employing a loop-tie method commonly used with gut strings. The string tension used for set-up was approximately one third of full tension, which was suicient to hold the freestanding bridge in position under pressure without placing undue strain on the soundboard and exerting undesirable forces on the instrument structure as a whole. No supporting sound post exists; this would sit below the underside of the soundboard at the bridge foot position (on the treble side) and reach to the back of the instrument, in this case the false back. Within the limits of the evidence available and while following the principles of sustainable conservation, it might be considered that the instrument now closely resembles its playing coniguration and overall appearance around the time of Elizabeth I. Interpreting the modiications Interpreting the evolution of a musical instrument from its repairs and modiications is not an exact science. In the case of the citole, however, there are some features that can assist this process. First, the instrument was clearly converted from a plucked, guitar-like instrument into a bowed instrument, a violin. By the time of Elizabeth’s ascent to the English throne in 1558 the violin was a fashionable instrument used mainly for dance accompaniment in consort with other string and wind instruments [19]. The eighteenth-century engraving mentioned above (Figure 21) clearly shows the low wedge ingerboard, the pointed tailpiece and the modiied headstock. The playing coniguration of the instrument in the engraving is that of an early violin, itted with a low bridge and a low wedge ingerboard. Remnant has pointed out some apparent inaccuracies in the engraving [3; p. 96], and we note in addition that the engraving has been laterally inverted and that the ingerboard also appears to be much shorter than in reality. Inaccuracies and distortions are common in early representations, and caution is needed when drawing conclusions from such sources. Exactly when the citole was irst converted is uncertain but in order to accomplish the conversion the lat inger- Figure 22. Detail of the tailpiece after conservation board had to be replaced and a new tailpiece added. The received opinion from an examination made by Charles Beare and Robert Graham in 1979 was that the present soundboard made of spruce, which has characteristic ‘f-shaped’ sound holes and a vaulted proile, dates from the mid-eighteenth century [3; p. 105 (endnote 40)]. It should of course be noted that these informed opinions are based on experience and knowledge rather than arrived at through scientiic dating. The surface of the neck and part of the ribs were planed down to make the conversion to a bowed instrument, as can be seen from the truncated carvings, Figure 19. The original lat citole soundboard may have been retained in the earliest conversion and only ‘upgraded’ to the present, arched violin-type soundboard at some later date. The planed-down neck surface would only have been necessary to obtain correct bridge and string height if still using the original lat soundboard. Inside the body of the instrument there is a false back inserted to give the appropriate depth for a violin [3; p. 95]. The false back is housed or let into the neck and upper bout; it rests just short of the end of the citole body and is glued at the sides, Figure 16. There is no sound post, but there is a mark and evidence of glue on the underside of the soundboard near the foot of the bridge. The presence of glue here does not relect a conventional procedure for itting a sound post, but is occasionally found. There was a loose piece of yew that had become dislodged and fallen through one of the ‘f-holes’. Whether or not this is from the false back cannot be established with certainty. In addition there is a bass bar planted below the underside of the soundboard as expected in a conventional violin set-up. The citole’s pegs had originally been frontal and wooden plugs can be seen inserted into the cavities from which the pegs once protruded below the dragon’s mouth. The boxwood pegbox was hollowed out deep enough to accommodate a set of conventional violin-type tuning pegs and given its ornate cover plate advertising the royal link. An X-radiograph (Figure 23) reveals that the tailpiece, possibly the earliest violin-type tailpiece in existence (extant early tailpieces are rare because they are lost or replaced over time), seems to be the result of adapting a ‘pointed’ design similar to those depicted frequently in book II of Syntagma musicum by Michael Praetorius, published in 1619 [20]. Appendix A | 121 Figure 23. X-radiograph of the trefoil (see Figure 14). The join to the central lobe appears as a ine white line in the image (arrowed) and the ‘dowel’ of a less dense material (broad pale line) can be seen running from the central lobe into the body of the trefoil Figure 24. Detail of the position of the cover plate hinge arms before the additional wedge was itted Figure 25. Detail showing the cut-away thumb hole 122 | The British Museum Citole The current wedge-shaped ingerboard is constructed from a wooden core, inlaid with a geometric pattern on its upper surface, in a way consistent with late-sixteenthcentury stringed instrument-making practice. An additional wedge that has been itted beneath the ingerboard seems to serve two purposes: to obtain both the correct bridge height and working height of the strings above the ingerboard surface. In the case of the citole, the material removed from the surface of the neck during an earlier conversion was, in efect, replaced by the new wedge along with a further slim insert to achieve the correct string/bridge height. A second wedge that has been itted beneath the ingerboard seems to serve two purposes. First, it is a means of adjusting the angle of the ingerboard so that the strings are at the correct playing height above its surface. The required angle depends on the bridge height, so the thickness of the wedge on the citole would have been chosen in conjunction with any changes to the bridge height. The second function of the wedge may have been to mimic the modernization of violins in the late eighteenth century. At that time older, straighter necks were being replaced with ‘backward canted’ necks that allowed greater playing luency [21]. These changes in neck angle, coupled with higher bridges and greater string tension, improved the acoustic response of the instruments. It is also possible that the alterations to the citole were a direct result of the itting of a new arched-top violin soundboard, which would have required the adjustments discussed. It is evident from examining the silver pegbox cover plate that the second wedge was not in place when the cover plate was originally made and itted. The arms of the plate were originally hinged at the sides of the neck at a position that would only allow the ingerboard to be in place. Hawkins describes a plate “… that turns upon a hinge and opens from the nut downwards” [22; p. 342]. Original hinge-pin holes and the carved-out neck areas accommodating the arms can be seen in Figure 24. It is suggested that the current cover plate arrangement, with the hinge-pin set in the pegbox, was conigured after the introduction of the additional wedge and that this wedge and arched soundboard were itted together. The cover plate would presumably have been reoriented after the engraving was rendered. Since the citole was reported as having poor sound quality and playability problems [22; p. 343, 23], these modiications may have also included the introduction of the inner false back in an efort to control and improve the sound. The magniicent carved dragon headpiece has also been modiied. At some point the round neck aperture was roughly carved out to make it larger and crude tool marks are evident, Figure 25. This was probably an attempt to give more hand room for the player, as the original hand-hole of the citole would only have been large enough to accommodate the player’s thumb with space for some limited hand movement. This enlargement could date from as late as the late eighteenth or early nineteenth century, when playing styles for the violin demanded more movement of the left hand along the ingerboard. Part of the tail and body of the wyvern carving may have thereby been lost and it is possible that the carved tail was originally nowed, as seen on the small wyvern carved on the side below the proper left ‘f-hole’, Figure 10. The trefoil has also been altered and reconstructed. The lobe farthest from the soundboard may have been broken, although this is unlikely as boxwood is a strong, dense wood. The lobe may have been worn away, but such extreme wear is not evident elsewhere on the citole. A more plausible reason for its alteration is that it was deliberately ‘rounded over’ to facilitate a conventional violin playing position with the instrument at the shoulder or breast; a latter trefoil end is illustrated in Hawkins’s 1776 engraving. The trefoil appears complete in an 1874 engraving by Engel and in an electrotype at the Victoria and Albert Museum that is referred to by Buehler-McWilliams [6; p. 15]. An X-radiograph of the trefoil reveals a clear join line around the whole of the bottom lobe and what appears to be a dowel-type ixing to hold a ‘new’ lobe in place, Figure 23. The replacement lobe is inely carved but there are subtle diferences in the style of the carving that would indicate it was fashioned by a diferent hand to the rest of the original carving. It might be, therefore, that a bottom lobe was partially removed or rounded over in the earlier conversion and that this truncated lobe was later cut away completely to allow a well-carved complete replacement lobe to be ‘let in’ to the trefoil. Other elements of carving elsewhere on the citole also lack the luidity of the original carver’s hand and appear darker, indicating that they could also be replacements by the carver of the trefoil lobe. These include acorns and leaves in the tree above the swine herder and the head of the woodman. Comments from those privileged enough to play the citole in its adapted state suggest that the experiment failed; Charles Burney stated that it sounded like a ‘mute’ violin (a practice violin), and that “the hand is so conined that nothing can be performed but that which lies within the reach of the hand in its irst position” [23]. The density of the boxwood deadened the sound while the thickness of the neck and the constraint of the neck aperture rendered any dextrous manipulation of the strings impossible. That the new violin could not be played satisfactorily probably contributed to the subsequent indiference that surrounded the state of the soundboard and the stringing of the instrument. It should be noted, however, that the soundboard was made from spruce, a wood commonly selected in violin making for the soundboard, sound post, and corner/top/ bottom blocks and linings, so it is possible that genuine eforts were made to render it playable. At some point prior to its acquisition by the British Museum in 1963, the citole was given a modern bridge and strung with gut without any attempt to sustain it as a potentially playable instrument. Conclusions Among Remnant’s concluding remarks in the 1980 study was the comment: “So far we have considered the external appearance of the instrument; the inside will remain largely a mystery until there is an opportunity to investigate it” [3; p. 95]. As a result of its imminent redisplay, that opportunity has now arisen. The treatment of the citole has been prompted partly by aesthetic considerations: the shabby, deteriorating state of the soundboard; the inappropriateness of the bridge; the broken peg head; and the visual confusion of the pegs and stringing. The accompanying examination has responded to Remnant’s desire to see inside the instrument and has ofered long-awaited insights into its construction. These investigations have not only ofered an insight into how the false back was itted, but have also provided an opportunity to re-evaluate the build up below the ingerboard and make some considered judgements as to the reasons for this sequence of alterations. In addition, the original orientation of the citole pegs and the inal reconstruction of the trefoil have been veriied through X-radiography, shedding light on the stages in their evolution. The use of X-radiography, coupled with knowledge of early musical instruments, has allowed the best possible explanation of the sequence of alterations throughout the citole’s long life to be pieced together. It is clear that the citole was converted to a violin in c.1578 when a ingerboard, tailpiece and dated tailpiece button plate were itted. The frontal plugs and X-radiographs of original peg holes suggest that the neck of the citole was hollowed out to take a violintype pegbox and peg coniguration. The original peg coniguration and its subsequent alteration have been discussed in great detail by Buehler-McWilliams [24]. The cover plate, hinged from the top nut down towards the bridge (described by Hawkins), has been reoriented. As can be seen from the truncated carving, the neck was planed lat and the wedge-shaped ingerboard itted to allow a violin bridge to be set up at a height that would accommodate bowing of the instrument. It has been suggested that the additional wedge is a repair to account for a gap between the ingerboard and the neck caused by the warping of the ingerboard [6; p. 12]. It seems more likely that the wedge was inserted to raise the strings in order to facilitate the itting of a higher, convex soundboard. The date of this putative second modiication is not known, but must have been after the initial conversion in 1578 and prior to Engel’s 1874 engraving. It is also evident from Hawkins’s description of the cover plate that, between 1776 and the production of the electrotype in 1869, the cover plate hinging was reversed. Hawkins’s 1776 engraving also shows a rounded-of trefoil which was reconstructed by the time the Victoria and Albert Museum’s electrotype was made in 1869, as noted by Buehler-McWilliams [6; p. 88]. There are still questions left unanswered; the precise sequence in which other alterations took place, including the opening up of the aperture within the neck and the insertion of the false back, have still to be determined. One suggestion is that the neck aperture modiication is likely to date from the late eighteenth or early nineteenth century when playing styles changed, demanding more access to the ingerboard. The insertion of the false back could have been carried out with the initial conversion or at the time the convex soundboard was itted (or indeed at any time up to the late eighteenth century). As no method – scientiic or otherwise – is available to date the soundboard, it cannot be ascertained whether the existing soundboard is contemporary with the original conversion, or is a later modiication that might explain the additional wedge. A reassessment of past restoration and modiication allowed more informed judgements to be made about conservation treatment. Although, after treatment, the citole now appears in a playable condition, this has not been Appendix A | 123 achieved without further modifying the citole. The top nut has been raised, the broken peg replaced, a new bridge modelled and new strings attached. These alterations have been carried out in consultation with curators, scientists, organologists, musicians and musical instrument makers. Unlike some of the earlier modiications and alterations, these changes are completely detachable and can be removed, should new information come to light or the aesthetic of future display or conservation demand. Acknowledgements The authors would like to thank Kate Buehler-McWilliams for detailed discussion, Mike Neilson (British Museum facsimile section), Trevor Springett (British Museum photographer), Pat Cleary (wood turner and furniture maker), Tony Simpson and Hannah Sherwin for assistance with the images. The authors would like to thank the Royal College of Art/Victoria and Albert Museum conservation course for facilitating the contribution of MA student Chris Egerton to this project. Authors Philip Kevin (pkevin@thebritishmuseum.ac.uk) is a conservator, and Susan La Niece (slaniece@ thebritishmuseum.ac.uk) and Caroline Cartwright (ccartwright@thebritishmuseum.ac.uk) are scientists, all in the Department of Conservation and Scientiic Research. James Robinson (jrobinson@thebritishmuseum.ac.uk) is a curator in the Department of Prehistory and Europe at the British Museum. Chris Egerton (chris.egerton@rca.ac.uk) is a stringed-instrument conservator in private practice. References Galpin, F., Old English instruments of music, Methuen & Co., London (1910) 23. 2 Wright, L., ‘The Medieval gittern and citole: a case of mistaken identity’, Galpin Society Journal 30 (1977) 8–41. 3 Marks, R. and Remnant, M., ‘A Medieval “gittern”’, in Music and civilization: British Museum Yearbook, Vol. 4, ed. T.C. Mitchell, British Museum Publications, London (1980) 83–106. 4 Tiella, M., ‘The violeta of S. Caterina de’Vigri’, Galpin Society Journal 28 (1975) 60–70. 1 124 | The British Museum Citole 5 Spring, M., The lute in Britain: a history of the instrument and its music, Oxford University Press, Oxford (2001) 8. 6 Buehler, K.E., Retelling the story of the English gittern in the British Museum: an organological study, ca.1300 – present, MA dissertation, University of Minnesota (2002) (unpublished). 7 Fleiner, C., ‘Dulcet tones: changing a gittern into a citole’, British Museum Magazine 53 (2005) 45. 8 Bedingield, H. and Gwynn-Jones, P., Heraldry, Bison Books, New York (1988) 81. 9 Caple, C., Conservation skills: judgement, method and decision making, Routledge, London and New York (2000). 10 Waitzman, M., Barclay, R.L., Odell, J.S., Karp, C. and Hellwig, F., ‘Basic maintenance of playing instruments’, in The care of historic musical instruments, ed. R.L. Barclay, Museums and Galleries Commission and the Canadian Conservation Institute (1997), www.music.ed.ac.uk/euchmi/cimcim/iht/index.html (accessed 25 April 2008). 11 Barclay, R., The preservation and use of historic musical instruments, Earthscan, London (2005). 12 Watson, J.R., ‘Beyond sound: preserving the other voice of historical instruments’ in Organ restoration reconsidered, ed. J.R. Watson, Harmonie Park Press, Michigan (2005) 15–26. 13 Pye, E., Caring for the past: issues in the conservation for archaeolog y and museums, James and James, London (2001) 77. 14 The National Trust, ‘Musical instruments’, in National Trust manual of housekeeping, Butterworth-Heinemann, Oxford (2006) 353–361. 15 Greville, F.E., Warwick Castle and its earls, Hutchinson & Co., London (1903) 353. 16 Rivers, S. and Umney, N. (eds), Conservation of furniture, Butterworth-Heinemann, Oxford (2003) 167. 17 Horie, C.V., Materials for conservation, Butterworth-Heinemann, Oxford (1987) 88. 18 Weisshaar, H. and Shipman, M., Violin restoration: a manual for violin makers, Weisshaar-Shipman, Los Angeles (1988) 237. 19 Holman, P., Four and twenty iddlers: the violin at the English court 1540–1690, Clarendon Press, Oxford (1993) preface. 20 Praetorius, M., Syntagma musicum II: De organographia Part I and II, Elias Holwein, Wolfenbüttel (1619) [facsimile, ed. and translated D.Z. Crookes, Clarendon Press, Oxford (1986)]. 21 Hill, W.H., Hill, A.F. and Hill, A.E., Antonio Stradivari: his life and work 1644–1737, Dover Publications, New York (1963) 202. 22 Hawkins, J., A general history of the science and practice of music, Vol. 4, T. Payne and Son, London (1776). 23 Burney, C., General history of music from the earliest ages to the present period, Vol. 3, printed for the author (1778) 15. 24 Buehler-McWilliams, K.E., ‘The British Museum citole: an organological study’, Journal of the American Musical Instrument Society 33 (2007) 5–41. Appendix B The British Museum Citole: An Organological Study* Kathryn Buehler-McWilliams This article was irst published in the Journal of the American Musical Instrument Society 33, 5–41, in 2007. Text within square brackets denote additions and references to other illustrations in this publication. The medieval citole housed in the British Museum is unique, valuable both as a surviving musical instrument and an exceptional work of medieval art (ig. 1).1 As such, it is mentioned frequently in both musicological and art historical texts.2 However, these references seldom go beyond a cursory acknowledgement of its existence, or a peek at its long and fascinating history. Similarly, it has been strangely bypassed in the early music revival. Until recently, thumbhole citoles, of which this is a splendid example, were largely ignored by makers, and consequently by players.3 The present article considers the British Museum citole as having been a functional musical instrument, and attempts to reconstruct its original coniguration by studying its structure and the changes that have been made to it. This investigation deepens our understanding of medieval string instruments, and will allow modern-day builders to create viable reproductions of the citole, restoring a voice to an instrument that, in its present state, will never speak again.4 A citole is a type of plucked string instrument popular in Europe in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. It has a short neck and its body shape is not rounded,5 instead varying from a pointy holly-leaf shape to a rounded guitar shape, with countless variations in between. Some citoles in iconography are essentially plucked iddles, with a lat back and simple neck. Others have an unusual tapered body, the deepness of which continues up the back of the neck, with the large expanse thus created being pierced with a hole through which the player’s thumb passes (ig. 2). The majority of citoles in iconography, however, are ambiguous, and could be interpreted either as simple-necked citoles or as crudely depicted thumbhole citoles. Contrary to the impression given by the kinds of reproductions now being built, an enumeration of indisputable simple-necked citoles and indisputable thumbhole citoles in iconography shows that the thumbhole citole was a common and wellestablished form.6 A unifying feature of these varied depictions of citoles is a consistent playing style: the instrument is cradled in the Figure 1. British Museum citole, Department of Britain, Europe and Prehistory, 1963,1002.1 Appendix B | 125 Figure 2. Citole and iddle carvings, Norwich Cathedral, cloister vault boss, ca. 1326–36; photograph by Alice Margerum, 2006 arms, the right arm coming up from beneath the lower bout to play the strings with a large plectrum. Daunting as the thumbhole may appear, it is surprisingly non-restrictive to playing, even allowing the performer to make small shifts out of irst position. Many iconographic thumbhole citoles have short ingerboards with one or two frets above the hand, and it is possible to reach these frets by bringing the thumb to the front edge of the thumbhole. The thumbhole citole is particularly apt for playing while standing up, since the portion of the neck behind the thumbhole rests comfortably against the player’s left arm, providing stability without the use of a strap. Indeed, citoles are often paired with iddles and portrayed being played by standing minstrels who are accompanying dancers.7 The British Museum citole dates from the early fourteenth century, a date coinciding with the zenith of the citole in English iconography and source records.8 It is the only surviving citole, and the oldest, most intact European necked chordophone to survive through centuries of human contact.9 The walls of this remarkable instrument are covered in ornate, small-scale carvings in high relief. It currently bears a violin soundboard, ingerboard, tailpiece, bridge, and other ittings. A silver plate with the royal coat of arms covering the pegbox and a lion’s head stud securing the tailgut, the stud’s anchoring mount engraved with “IP 1578” (see ig. 8), link the instrument to Queen Elizabeth I and provide a date for some of the alterations.10 Although the anachronistic violin top draws much attention to itself, it really constitutes a fairly innocuous alteration to the instrument. This is in part due to the original structure of the instrument. As was common for European string instruments in the Middle Ages, the body of the British Museum citole was carved out of one piece of wood: back, sides, neck, and peg area are a single piece of boxwood, with minor exceptions, which will be noted below. The soundboard, ingerboard, bridge, and other medieval ittings were attached to the body. For the most part, it is only these additions that have been replaced and altered through the centuries; the original body remains remarkably intact. Consequently, the changes that have been made to the body, for instance at the peg area, are most informative in creating a chronology for the instrument and determining its original coniguration. The British Museum citole has a complicated form (ig. 3). From the front, it is approximately the same size and shape as a violin: it is 61 cm long and 18.6 cm wide at the lower bouts. It has rounded lower bouts, but lacks C bouts, and its shoulders are angled into the neck. The tailpiece end has an extension in the shape of a trefoil, or three-lobed inial. From the side, however, the citole is very unlike a violin, for it is a wedge shape that is narrowest at the tailpiece end (3 cm) and widest at the nut (14.7 cm). The deep expanse of the neck is pierced by the thumbhole. The sides of the instrument, from the narrow strips near the trefoil to the large surfaces on the shoulders Figure 3. Front, back, and proile of the British Museum citole (photographs by Lewis Jones and Alice Margerum) 126 | The British Museum Citole Figure 4. Keel-shaped back of the British Museum citole (photograph by Lewis Jones and Alice Margerum) and surrounding the thumbhole, are carved with igures and foliage. The peg end is surmounted by a magniicent dragon with bared teeth and large, bat-like wings. The back has an intriguing shape, with a central ridge extending from the base of the trefoil up to the back of the neck, gaining prominence and height as it goes (ig. 4). This keel-shaped back is undecorated, with the exception of a small patch of carving at the base of the neck that tastefully relates it to the rest of the instrument. The British Museum citole has often been condemned as a musical instrument for qualities attributed to its construction and ornate decoration. In his description of 1776, John Hawkins wrote: “Notwithstanding the exquisite workmanship of it, the instrument produces but a close and sluggish tone, which considering the profusion of ornament, and the quantity of wood with which it is encumbered, is not to be wondered at.”11 Modern writers have continued to question whether the citole could have been successful as a musical instrument, or whether such an instrument was even intended for musical use. However, X-ray images attest to the remarkable care that has been taken to create an instrument both stunning in appearance and reined in construction.12 Despite the decorative carving, the walls of the instrument are remarkably thin and uniform [see Introduction, Pl. 27]. The relief carvings are consistently about 3 mm deep, and the solid wall behind them is also about 3 mm thick, resulting in a total wall thickness of about 6–7 mm. Considerable efort has been made to reduce the weight of the carvings: the four bumps along the instrument’s outline are largely undercut, in actuality more air than wood. The lower two bumps, at the waist of the instrument, have been scooped out from the inside as well, minimizing the amount of wood there. Remarkably little allowance has been made for end grain; the walls at the shoulders and approaching the trefoil, which are on the end grain, are essentially as thin as anywhere else [see Introduction, Pl. 26]. The interior walls of the instrument show remarkable grace and elegance in their shape and continuity; the X rays reveal that they are clean and smooth, and generally parallel to the outside surface. The thickness of the back is harder to gauge from the X rays; however, there are indications that it is very thin. A hole, 5 mm in diameter, has been drilled though the back.13 The thickness of the wood at the edge of this hole appears to be slightly less than 2 mm. Close examination of the X ray reveals that the spine of the keel-shaped back is slightly thicker than the wood around it, and that the thickness of the wood at the hole is representative of the remainder of the back [see Introduction, Pl. 27]. Indeed, the only parts of the citole that actually consist of thick, solid wood are the trefoil extension and the dragon. The area between the thumbhole and the back edge of the neck (the area shown in ig. 10) is deceptively thin, only about 11 mm across [see Introduction, Pls 25–6]. The back edge of the neck appears thick, but is mostly hollow. The area underneath the ingerboard has been hollowed out. The body cavity is brought to a point as it meets the neck, again minimizing the weight of the entire neck. Only the dragon’s head, wings, and body as it curls toward the ingerboard are thick (25–35 mm) and solid.14 This solidity is necessary to provide the pegs with a good mount and to support the tension of the strings. The trefoil acts as a counterbalance and provides a solid mount for the other end of the strings. The construction of the citole is well thought out, combining the strength and lightness required in a good instrument. Solid masses at both ends provide support for the strings, and the thicker ridge down the spine of the back connects them. The rest of the back is thin and undecorated, allowing for good resonance. The walls, or ribs, are decorated, but of consistent thickness. On instruments such as this, the acoustical function of the ribs is to carry the vibrations from the front to the back; the ribs do not provide signiicant resonance themselves. However, on this instrument the two largest sections of the walls, the shoulders, are constructed with a plain wall, with carvings that are not attached (this is discussed further below); this may be a device to allow them to vibrate unhindered. The builder was careful to reduce the amount of material throughout the citole, minimizing its weight and maximizing its resonance. This implies that the British Museum citole is the product of a master instrument builder, and represents a highly developed instrument. Study of the British Museum citole is of course complicated by the alterations made to it since its Appendix B | 127 Figure 5. Electrotype copy of the British Museum citole, the Victoria and Albert Museum, inventory no. ’69-66; photograph reproduced by kind permission of the Victoria and Albert Museum (photograph by the author) Figure 6. Detail of the bridge on the electrotype copy; photograph reproduced by kind permission of the Victoria and Albert Museum (photograph by the author) construction, some intentional, and some accidental. A valuable tool in considering these changes is an electrotype copy made in 1869 (ig. 5).15 It is a remarkable three-dimensional copy of the citole, made apparently by pressing soft wax onto the carvings and submitting the wax to an electrical process to create an exact replica in brass. The makers of the electrotype were clearly most interested in the medieval carvings, which are duplicated with an astonishing degree of detail. Unfortunately, in the efort to make the electrotype resemble the original instrument, it was painted brown, ironically disguising some of the ine surface detail. The top and back of the instrument are merely approximated in the electrotype. The electrotype is itted with a curious bridge carved to resemble a stone arch bridge covered with ivy (ig. 6). This bridge was probably made to complement the carvings on the body of the citole, but not intended to be functional.16 The electrotype provides a valuable bookmark in the citole’s history because it records the state of the instrument in 1869. Remarkably, much of the damage to the instrument has happened since then. Examples of this modern damage can be seen on the shoulders (ig. 7). These are the exception to the one-piece construction of the instrument, for the decoration there, rather than being carved directly into the wood of the body, is carved on a separate panel of wood for each shoulder, which is set against an integral wall. A small frame around each panel, hidden behind the carvings, is glued to the inner wall. One reason for this construction could be that since these two large panels occur on end grain, the carver chose to insert slab-cut panels to retain a unity of appearance throughout the instrument. Another reason could be to give the shoulders greater resonance, as stated above. The fragility of the carving here is evident: several bits have broken of, some of which have been glued back on. The panels are undamaged on the electrotype, and one large Figure 7. Right shoulder of the British Museum citole (photograph by the author) 128 | The British Museum Citole Figure 8. Front and back of the trefoil of the British Museum citole (photographs by the author) piece currently missing from the right shoulder of the citole is present in a photo from 1903.17 The walls behind the shoulder carvings are covered with gilding composed of brass paint on paper, which currently has a greenish, wrinkled appearance.18 John Hawkins, writing in 1776, described the carvings on these two panels and noted that “under the carving is a foil of tinsel or silver gilt.”19 This appearance of gilt is maintained on the electrotype, where the shoulders were cast as separate pieces, painted brown, and set against a gold-painted wall. How old the gilt is, and why it should be apparent in 1776 and 1869, but be completely tarnished now, is unclear. No traces of gilt or other polychromy survive elsewhere on the instrument, so these panels are the only places highlighted in this way.20 The gilding could have been renewed (or applied) in the sixteenth century when a new soundboard was made, by removing and replacing the panels. It could be that the process of making the electrotype caused the gilding to tarnish. Another part of the citole that has been damaged and repaired is the endmost knob of the trefoil (ig. 8). This knob is missing in the engraving that accompanies Hawkins’s description of the instrument [see Introduction, Pl. 1],21 and is present in its current, repaired, form on the electrotype. The high quality of the carving on the knob has led to the assumption that it is the original piece, which was reaixed.22 However, the X rays clearly show that the current knob is a replacement [see Appendix A, ig. 23]. The joint between this knob and the rest of the trefoil is set at an angle impossible to cut, angling into the trefoil in a cone shape. Also, the two side knobs of the trefoil are very worn, front and back, while this knob is not. This all suggests that the original knob was broken of and lost at an early date, and that sometime later the broken wood was removed and a replacement piece carved and itted. Perhaps this was done in preparation for making the electrotype and displaying the instrument in the mid-nineteenth century. The very skilled carver who made the carefully matched replacement piece might also have made the decorated bridge that was copied for the electrotype. One of the most gratifying results of my study has been the recognition of a lost owl’s rightful place on the citole. The British Museum has in its collection a small, threedimensional carved owl (ig. 9), which they have assumed belonged in some way with the citole. Comparison to the electrotype reveals that the owl once inhabited the hollow Figure 9. Front and side of the owl (photographs by the author) Appendix B | 129 Figure 10. Detail of the British Museum citole neck from the right side, showing hollow cylinder decorated with vines (photograph by the author) Figure 11. Pegbox of the British Museum citole (photograph by the author) space surrounded by vines of ivy at the back of the citole’s neck (ig. 10). The owl’s front and sides are decorated to the citole carver’s typical level of detail, but its back is not. It was probably recessed within the vines so that it could be seen from diferent angles as a close observer peered Figure 12. Detail of the peg area showing the plugged citole peg holes (photograph by the author) 130 | The British Museum Citole through the leaves. Again, the craftsmanship is astounding. The changes to the British Museum citole discussed hitherto can be characterized as accidental damage, which in some cases has been repaired to preserve the medieval relic. The following, more substantial, alterations were made intentionally to modify the citole into a violin and maintain it in a playable condition as such. Although some may deem these eforts misguided, they were at least made in a systematic way, and can thus be traced back to reveal the original form of the citole. The most signiicant changes to the citole have been made at the peg-box area. Currently, the citole has four pegs inserted laterally as on a violin (ig. 11). The front surface of the pegbox is covered by a silver lid engraved with the arms of Elizabeth I and Robert Dudley. A small hinge attaches the silver plate at the upper edge, and two arms extend down the edges of the ingerboard on either side of the nut. In addition to the four holes with pegs in them, there are two additional holes for pegs. These holes were plugged, although the wooden iller has fallen out of one of them due to the crack in the pegbox wall.23 It is evident that the pegbox and the peg holes that lie beneath it are alterations to the medieval citole. The original builder took great care to arrange the carvings into logical and complete segments, but these peg holes and the silver plate cut mercilessly through the carvings, piercing Figure 13a. Citole carving, Strasbourg Cathedral, ca. 1290; photograph by Crawford Young and Richard Earle Figure 13b. Detail of citole pegs, Strasbourg Cathedral, ca. 1290; photograph by Crawford Young and Richard Earle leaves and dragon scales, and slicing away the back of a man. However, on the front surface of the peg area, between the dragon’s mouth and the top of the silver plate, are two round depressions illed with a rough material (ig. 12). These are accommodated by the carving: grape vines and leaves are positioned to curl around them. The X-ray images [see Introduction, Pl. 25] conirm that these are peg holes, and thus that the entire pegbox is a later modiication. Although on the surface the two holes are close both to each other and to the outside edge of the citole, they were drilled at an angle so that each peg leaned out, leaving ample room to turn it. On thumbhole citoles, the pegs pierce the peg block from the front surface, and the large expanse of material behind the neck provides a secure mount. This arrangement can be seen clearly in iconography, for instance in the carvings in the Exeter Cathedral Minstrels’ Gallery, at Strasbourg Cathedral (ig. 13), and on the west portal of the Toro Collegiate Church. Pegs splayed out at seemingly haphazard angles are evident in some two-dimensional depictions, such as the citole in the Avranches manuscript (Avranches, Bibliothèque Municipale MS 222, fol. 9).24 All other traces of the original citole pegs are unfortunately lost, having been destroyed when the pegbox was excavated. However, the spacing and the angle of these two holes provide clues about the others. The placement of the two holes far back near the dragon’s mouth suggests that the builder wanted to use all the available space, which would allow for a total of six pegs. Since the neck seems too slender to have accommodated six individual strings, these were probably arranged in courses. Two citoles on the Toro west portal (Elders 1 and 18) show ive pegs but only three strings, suggesting that the ive strings were grouped into three courses.25 The angle of the two old peg holes suggests that some additional alterations may have been made to the peg area. The holes are not perpendicular to the surface through which they are drilled, but parallel to the ingerboard. This is curious, because if the other original peg holes were drilled at the same angle, there would not be enough material for them near the nut to it securely. However, if some wood has been removed and originally there was a distinct angle between the ingerboard and the peg area, the pegs would it admirably (ig. 14). The citole carving in Strasbourg clearly shows this arrangement (see ig. 13), and others such as the Norwich Cathedral and Cley-next-the-Sea examples (igs. 2 and 15) have a distinct angle at the nut, rather than the slope suggested by the current arrangement of the British Museum Figure 14. Diagram showing the proposed coniguration of the peg area Appendix B | 131 Figure 15. Citole carving, Cley-next-the-Sea, Norfolk, Church of St. Margaret, label stop, ca. 1320–30; photograph by Alice Margerum, 2006 citole. This coniguration would move the nut back about 2 cm, increasing the string length, and causing the index inger to rest comfortably in irst position with the hand resting against the back edge of the thumbhole. Consideration of the British Museum citole with this extra material at the peg end explains some other small puzzles. Currently, the hollow neck extends into the pegbox, and a rough plug under the nut separates the two open spaces. If the citole had originally been built with the nut further back, there would be plenty of room to end the hollow neck and leave solid wood under the end of the ingerboard. The decorative carving also supports this reconstruction, for the longer neck would allow the scene beneath the ingerboard to end at a clean angle, and provide enough space to inish the tree of which only a stump remains. Additional alterations have been made to the top edges of the neck and the walls of the citole in the process of itting new ingerboard(s) and soundboard(s). Fortunately, by studying the carving on the neck and walls, the original height of each can be reestablished. Throughout the decorative program on the citole, the carver has arranged the subject matter carefully to it within well-deined bounds. Friezes of quatrefoils or other banding divide the carvings into sections that coincide with features in the overall shape of the instrument. For example, each shoulder bears one complete vignette, and the carving on 132 | The British Museum Citole the lower bouts is continuous until it reaches the irst of the protruding bumps, where a band of quatrefoils separates it from the next section of carving. Each section is further deined by containing a speciic type of foliage: oak trees on the shoulders and maple on the lower bouts, to name a few. In each section, the subject matter is arranged carefully to it within its prescribed space; leaves always bend to it rather than being cut of.26 This characteristic is critical in understanding the upper edge of the carving, and thus the original rib line of the citole. Another critical feature is that the decorative banding occurs between segments of carving, but never on the outer edges of the instrument. The bottom edge of the ribs as they meet the back is consistently undecorated, and this is obviously original since the ribs and back are one piece of wood. A ridge of wood is necessary along the bottom edge of each shoulder to secure the panel. However, this ridge is not decorated, maintaining a similar appearance to the bottom edge of the rest of the side carvings. The lower bouts present a clear example of unaltered ribs (ig. 16). The ribs here are voluted, or scooped out. A constructional technique used in carved-body instruments, voluted ribs allow the maker to thin the walls of the instrument from the outside, while leaving plenty of surface area on the top edge of the ribs to secure the soundboard. Surviving lire da braccio from the sixteenth century,27 as well as medieval carvings such as the iddle in the Lincoln Cathedral Angel Choir, have this feature. The maker of the British Museum citole used this technique on the lower bouts, where the ribs are short, but did not attempt to volute the taller ribs of the shoulders; as these are hidden behind the carvings, there was no need to volute them for the sake of a uniied appearance. Both the top and bottom edges of the ribs on the lower bouts as they leave the trefoil are clearly deined by the voluting and the placement of the decoration. One exception may be some leaf tips that appear to have been trimmed of, on the second and third trees around from the trefoil on the right side. This will be pertinent when considering the original rib line. As the lower bouts curve in toward the waist of the instrument, more signiicant trimming has occurred on both sides of the instrument (igs. 17 and 18). The voluting has lattened out, but more substantial parts of leaves have been cut away. This trimming was continued over the protruding bumps and up to the shoulder panels. Due to their special construction, the shoulder panels themselves provide their own clues. Here the carvings are pierced through the wood panels, but the outer edges of each panel are supported by a solid frame. This frame is subtly hidden behind the carvings; it is most visible on the left shoulder panel among the pig’s feet on the bottom edge and the oak leaves in the upper right corner (ig. 19). Its presence helps deine the upper edge of the shoulders as the original rib line. While our understanding of the original rib line is assisted by the decorative carving, it is hampered by the presence of the vaulted violin soundboard, which covers the rib line and also confuses the eye with its many curved lines. However, until such time as additional scientiic investigation can be made, we must use the clues we have. I propose that, rather Figure 16. Left lower bouts and trefoil of the British Museum citole (photograph by the author) Figure 17. Left side of the British Museum citole (photograph by the author) Figure 18. Right side of the British Museum citole (photograph by the author) than the vaulted type of soundboard the citole currently has, it was originally itted with a bent soundboard, and that all of the alterations to the rib line can be explained by the diference between these two kinds of soundboard. A bent soundboard is made from a thin, lat piece of wood bent into a gentle arch; such a bend introduced into a lat piece of wood adds signiicantly to its structural strength. Conversely, a vaulted soundboard is made by carving a thick piece of wood into a thin, domed shape. The shape of the rib line is completely diferent for a bent top than for a vaulted top. With a vaulted soundboard, the rib line occurs in one plane: set a violin soundboard on a lat surface, and all of its edges will lie lat while its belly arches away from the surface. With a bent soundboard, the rib line dips according to its distance away from the centerline of the instrument (ig. 20). Where the ribs move quickly in or out from the centerline, the dip of the rib line will be most apparent, whereas the portions of the ribs that are more or Appendix B | 133 Figure 19. Left shoulder of the British Museum citole (photograph by the author) Figure 20. Proiles of vaulted and bent soundboards. (a) A standard violin with a vaulted soundboard. (b) The British Museum citole with a bent soundboard.(c) End view of a vaulted soundboard. (d) End view of a bent soundboard less parallel to the centerline will have a lat rib line. On the British Museum citole, the places where the rib line would dip the most are on the shoulders, the bottoms of the lower bouts, and as the lower bouts curve into the waist. These are the places where a maker trying to it a vaulted soundboard would have the most trouble. We have seen that the rib line of the citole has been lowered as the lower bouts curve into the waist, and possibly as they approach the trefoil (ig. 21). As the shoulders approach the neck, the soundboard has lifted completely away from the ribs, suggesting that the rib line is not lat. It has also pulled away from the ribs at other points.28 The imperfect it of the present soundboard and the subtle alterations to the rib line are exactly what one would encounter in attempting to it a vaulted soundboard onto a rib line shaped for a bent soundboard. 134 | The British Museum Citole Citoles and other similar medieval instruments have traditionally been assumed to have had lat soundboards. This is in accordance with the recognized development of the vaulted top in the late ifteenth century, leading to the development of the violin. In iconographic sources, an arched top can be indicated by shading, as on Gaudenzio Ferrari’s famous “Paradiso” fresco in the Sanctuary of La Beata Vergine dei Miracoli, Saronno (1534–36).29 However, without this shading, it is impossible to tell in a painting what kind of subtle shape a soundboard has. Likewise, this kind of subtlety can be lost on a sculpture, unless the sculptor intended to reproduce the instrument exactly and the soundboard is not obscured by the player’s hand. Even so, the observer may not be able to conirm this intricacy without close critical examination, perhaps by holding a lat edge to Figure 21. Diagram illustrating the condition of the rib line of the British Museum citole the carving to conirm the soundboard’s shape.30 The bend in the top I am proposing for the British Museum citole is very slight, perhaps dipping 8 mm at the widest portion of the lower bouts. Such a feature would be hard to establish in the iconographic record, and is precisely the kind of information that makes the study of surviving instruments so valuable. With the condition of the rib line established, the relationship between it and the neck becomes apparent. There is a distinct step up from the rib line at the shoulders to the neck under the ingerboard, implying that the ingerboard was raised of the soundboard, and resulting in a higher bridge than we normally associate with plucked string instruments.31 It is worth noting that the edges of the neck are walls themselves, like the ribs, because the neck has been hollowed out (ig. 22). The walls of the neck have been lowered since their original construction, for signiicant portions of the carving have been lost (igs. 23 and 24). Presuming that the line of banding underneath the carved hunt scene was parallel to the original top of the neck, as it is to the shoulder when it turns downward, the neck has been lowered fairly uniformly. The missing bits from heads and leaves, and perhaps the antlers on the deer on the left side of the neck, suggest that the original edge was 2–4 mm higher. Restoring this amount to the height of the neck and itting the ribs with a bent soundboard would create a bridge about 3 cm tall, although the precise height would depend on bridge placement and the angle and height of the ingerboard, both of which are lost to us now. A signiicant number of iconographic sources show a large, thick bridge (see, for example, ig. 2). Some iconographic citoles have tailpieces, while the strings of others converge to a point at the base of the trefoil. The British Museum citole has several holes through its trefoil (see ig. 8). One hole, 3.7 mm wide, pierces the trefoil at its center, where the carved ribbons intersect. The top surface of this hole is centered while the back is slightly askew. Another hole, drilled straight through the trefoil stem, secures the silver lion’s head on the front surface and a small shield with the date 1578 on the back surface. An earlier hole through the stem has since been plugged (see ig. 8; visible on the back, to the left of the shield); the wood of the plug has a reddish hue, similar to the plugs in the pegbox. This hole was steeply tapered, being 7.9 mm on the front surface and 5.0 mm on the back, and, like the hole where the carved ribbons intersect, was drilled at an angle. The tapered hole, and perhaps the hole where the ribbons Figure 22. Detail of the hollow neck of the British Museum citole (photograph by the author) Appendix B | 135 Figure 23. Detail of the neck of the British Museum citole from the right side (photograph by the author) Figure 24. Detail of the neck of the British Museum citole from the left side (photograph by the author) intersect, may have been used to secure the strings in some manner. A peg inserted into the tapered hole could have secured the tailgut in a manner similar to the present arrangement. Alternatively, if there was no tailpiece, all of the strings could have been attached directly to a ring or thong on this peg. Another setup feature about which the British Museum citole is frustratingly silent is frets. Many manuscript drawings of citoles show frets, usually as parallel double lines. Due to the nature of the British Museum citole’s neck, it could not have accommodated gut frets tied around the ingerboard and neck, as on a lute, so it is probable that it had glued-on wooden frets.32 These could have been small and narrow, in essence very similar to tied gut frets.33 Alternatively, they could have been wider wooden frets, as on citoles [more properly identiied as cetere, see Chapter 10, this volume, p. 98] Figure 25. Detail of the frets on a citole carving on Valencia Cathedral, south door, ca. 1400; photograph by Alice Margerum, 2006 136 | The British Museum Citole depicted in the Parma Baptistry and the church of St. Francis of Assisi. A carved citole in Valencia shows curious wide, lat frets with small voids between them (ig. 25).34 Thus, even though the original ittings of the British Museum citole have been lost, clues left behind on the instrument can tell us things about them. First, the citole’s pegs were originally inserted from the front, rather than laterally, as they now are. The spacing of the surviving peg holes suggests that the instrument originally had six pegs, and the slenderness of the neck suggests that the six strings were grouped in courses. The shape and condition of the rib line indicate that the citole originally had a lat soundboard, bent to shape. The step between the rib line and the neck demonstrates that the ingerboard was raised above the level of the soundboard. This, together with the bent soundboard, suggests that the bridge was high. The tapered hole in the trefoil stem suggests that the strings were aixed there, either by means of a tailpiece or by some other method. Other details of the setup, such as frets, bridge height and placement, string material, and tuning are unfortunately unknown. However, the citole provides enough clues for enterprising builders to start addressing these issues. Finally, there is a legitimate question as to whether instruments that are highly decorated can be considered representative of their kind. The high survival rate of decorated instruments can be more easily ascribed to artistic qualities than to musical value, and the British Museum citole’s remarkable preservation can of course be attributed to its beauty as a work of art. However, I believe that it was created to be a performing instrument, or at least that it was built by a craftsman who was a master citole builder as well as a master carver. Granted, this was probably an extraordinarily ornate instrument, intended for a special patron, but that need not detract from its musical value. Wear marks on the neck and trefoil indicate that it was played, although that does not necessarily mean that it had a favorable sound. Features such as the thin, undecorated back and the voluted lower bouts indicate that the builder knew how musical instruments worked. Also, careful attention was given to the balance of the instrument. Even though it is somewhat heavy (certainly not like the featherweight lute), it rides comfortably in the arms. The hollow neck and the thinness of the wood around the thumbhole suggest that the craftsman made adjustments to allow the instrument to balance comfortably. The reined quality of the interior indicates that the citole was not merely a showpiece. And inally, the overall beauty and elegance of design bespeaks a reined instrument representing the height of its development. As such, it provides an invaluable example of the work of a skilled medieval instrument maker, so distant to us today. Appendix 1 Provenance of the British Museum citole The irst known record of the British Museum citole’s existence is a detailed description of the instrument by Sir John Hawkins in his History of Music, published in 1776.35 Assuming it to be an early and strange violin dating from the sixteenth century, Hawkins describes some of the carving and provides a detailed engraving of the instrument. He comments that it was purchased at the “sale by auction of the late duke of Dorset’s efects,”36 likely referring to an auction that took place at the death of Charles Sackville in 1769. The Sackville family was known for collecting royal castofs, and a possible scenario is that Thomas Sackville, Lord High Treasurer to Elizabeth I, acquired the instrument at her death in 1603. Charles Burney also mentions the citole, in the third volume of his History of Music, published in 1789.37 He notes that the instrument was then the property of Mr. Bremner, who owned a music publishing and instrument business in the Strand. The publisher Robert Bremner (ca. 1713–1789), who had moved his business from Edinburgh to London in 1762, also owned the Fitzwilliam Virginal Book for some years.38 In 1803, the citole was sold at the sale of the Honourable Smith-Barry’s efects by Christie’s for 30 guineas.39 In 1806, the citole appeared in an inventory of Warwick Castle as “Queen Elizabeth’s violin.”40 It remained in the Warwick collection until 1963, when the British Museum acquired the instrument. In the 1860s, the 4th Earl of Warwick, George Guy Greville, was approached by Henry Cole of the South Kensington Museum (now the Victoria and Albert Museum) regarding his collection. This resulted in the making of an electrotype copy of the instrument in 1869 by Messrs. Franchi and Son, and the displaying of the instrument in 1872 at an exhibition of musical instruments at the South Kensington Museum. The citole was subsequently shown at the 1904 exhibition at Fishmongers’ Hall, in Eastbury Manor House, Barking, in 1935, at the 1951 Galpin exhibition, at an exhibition in Jamestown, Virginia, in 1957, and at an exhibition in Paris in 1967.41 Appendix 2 Thumbhole citoles in iconography The study of citoles in iconography is problematic. First, the normal caveats apply: Did the artist know the instrument and care about depicting it accurately? Was the artist working from a pattern book, a description, a memory of an existing instrument, or a real instrument? Does symbolism play a role in the depiction, and, if so, how? How do the limitations of the artistic medium hamper the accurate depiction of a musical instrument? This last issue applies most speciically to the thumbhole citole: most twodimensional depictions show the instrument directly from the front, and reveal nothing about the depth of the back or the presence of a thumbhole. When viewing a thumbhole citole from the front, the actual thumbhole and unusual neck are completely hidden (ig. 26). Additionally, due to the instrument’s keel-shaped back, the visible depth at the edges of the British Museum citole is signiicantly less than the full depth at the thumbhole. This means that even a citole depiction that shows a second line giving an impression of the depth of the body (as in the Robert de Lisle Psalter) could represent an instrument with an overall wedge shape. A few two-dimensional depictions do portray the thumbhole, although the thumbholes swing far to one side in organologically improbable arrangements (Robert de Lisle Psalter, Tickhill Psalter). Others clearly depict a simple neck with a pegdisc on the end (ig. 27). Most other twodimensional depictions are ambiguous, depicting a Figure 26. The author playing her reconstruction of the British Museum citole Appendix B | 137 Toro Collegiate Church, west portal, Elder 18 (PR ig. 5) Valencia Cathedral, south door (ig. 25) Pamplona Cathedral, cloisters [Chapter 2, Pl. 9] Rheims Cathedral, west façade Strasbourg Cathedral (ig. 13) Simple-necked citoles Figure 27. A citole with a clearly visible pegdisc, Warham, Norfolk, Church of St. Mary, stained glass, ca. 1320–30; photograph by the author. ingerboard that ends without any indication of pegging, or an unusual bent head that curls toward the player, usually terminating in a dragon’s head (both of these can be found in the Queen Mary Psalter). Either of these could, in fact, represent a thumbhole citole. In the irst case, the artist merely drew what was visible from the front and ignored the complicated hodge-podge of wood and pegs beneath the ingerboard. In the second case, the artist was intrigued by the dragon’s head curling around the top of the instrument, and drew it in a way that was artistically pleasing, though organologically improbable. It is noteworthy that the forward-bent, curved neck does not occur in threedimensional media. Citoles in sculpture have their own advantages and disadvantages for the researcher. Since they occur in three dimensions, the carver can represent the sides of the instrument as well as the front. However, circumstances may have dictated that the instrument be carved in less detail than we could wish, so what appears to be a deep body could simply be a case where the carver neglected to remove excess stone. However, as with two-dimensional depictions, there are clear examples of both simple-necked citoles (Lincoln Cathedral Angel Choir) and thumbhole citoles (igs. 2, 13, 15, and 25). Others have characteristics of a thumbhole citole, such as a wedge-shaped body or pegs inserted from the front of the peg block, but the area where the thumbhole would be is obscured. Iconographic examples of indisputable thumbhole citoles and indisputable simple-necked instruments that have been called citoles are listed below. Parma, Baptistry, stone carving (R&M ig. 53) [Chapter 2, Pl. 7] Lincoln Cathedral, Angel Choir (R&M ig. 54) Gloucester Cathedral, vault boss (R&M ig. 63) Assisi, St. Francis of Assisi lower church, fresco with Elders (CY igs. 7–11) Book of Hours (London, British Library, Egerton MS 1151, fol. 47) (R&M ig. 68, www.bl.uk/catalogues/ illuminatedmanuscripts) [Chapter 11, Pl. 2] Warham, Norfolk, Church of St. Mary, stained glass (ig. 27 Yorkshire Museum & Gardens, stained glass (Age of Chivalry no. 562) Abbreviations R&M Mary Remnant and Richard Marks, “A Medieval ‘Gittern,’ ” in Music and Civilisation, ed. T. C. Mitchell, British Museum Yearbook 4 (1980): 83–134. JM Jeremy Montagu, Minstrels and Angels (Berkeley, CA: Fallen Leaf Press, 1998). CY Crawford Young, “Zur Klassiication und Ikonographischen Interpretation Mittelalterlicher Zupinstrumente,” Basler Jahrbuch für historische Musikpraxis 8 (1984): 67–103. PR Pepe Rey, “Cordophones pincés et styles musicaux,” in Instruments à cordes du Moyen Age, ed. Christian Rault (Grâne: Editions Créaphis, 1999), 95–113. Age of Chivalry Jonathan Alexander and Paul Binski, eds., Age of Chivalry: Art in Plantagenet England, 1200– 1400 (London: Royal Academy of Arts in association with Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1987). Appendix 3 Transforming the citole into a violin Thumbhole citoles Norwich Cathedral, cloister vault boss (ig. 2) Cley-next-the-Sea, Norfolk, Church of St. Margaret, label stop (ig. 15) Robert de Lisle Psalter (London, British Library, Arundel 83, II, fol. 134v) (R&M ig. 57, www.bl.uk/catalogues/ illuminatedmanuscripts) Tickhill Psalter (New York Public Library, Spencer Collection, MS 26, fol. 17) (R&M ig. 71) Lincoln Cathedral, stained glass [Chapter 2, Pl. 6] Beverley Minster, nave label stop ( JM pl. 79) Psalter-Hours (New York, Pierpont Morgan Library MS M.183, fol. 141v) (CY ig. 15, corsair.morganlibrary.org) Petites Heures de Jean de Berry, (Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, Lat. MS. 18014, fol. 53) 138 | The British Museum Citole The alterations to the British Museum citole to transform it into a violin shed light on the place of violins in Tudor England. Setting aside the date of the current ittings, consideration of the pegbox indicates that the instrument was irst transformed into a three-string violin, then upgraded to a four-string violin. There are currently holes for six laterally placed pegs beneath the silver plate; four of the holes have pegs, and the other two have been plugged (igs. 28 and 29). I will call the current four peg holes A, B, C, and D, and the plugged holes E and F (ig. 30). The pegbox of the three-string violin ended after F, which its neatly beneath the silver plate, but it was later excavated more deeply to accommodate holes C and D. The plugged holes are smaller than the current pegs (ig. 31), and are comparable in size to those on the famous instrument made Figure 28. Detail of the exterior of the pegbox on the British Museum citole (photograph by the author) Figure 29. Detail of the interior of the pegbox on the British Museum citole (photograph by the author) Figure 30. Diagram of the location of the peg holes on the British Museum citole Figure 31. Diagram showing the size and direction of the peg holes on the British Museum citole by John Rose ca. 1580 (identiied variously as cymbalum decachordon, a bandora or an orpharion). It is evident from the direction in which the peg holes were reamed that the pegbox was originally built to accommodate only three pegs: E and F together with B, originally reamed the other way. The reamed direction of A would exclude it from this setup. The orientation of the three pegs, with the peg head closest to the nut extending out on the thumb side, is consistent with other instruments that have pegboxes and three strings.42 The size of the original pegbox is deined by the silver plate, which, along with the silver lion’s head stud and date, links the instrument to Elizabeth I and Robert Dudley and the year 1578. I propose that the citole was found in its original form shortly before 1578 and modiied into a three-string violin. Shortly thereafter, it was modernized again into a four-string violin by deepening the peg-box, re-reaming hole B, and drilling holes A, C, and D. Because the silver plate carried signiicance and beauty, the second modiier was careful to hide his work underneath it. Daunting as it appears when considering violin playing position, the British Museum citole can be played as a violin if a low Renaissance orientation is used. The trefoil rests easily on the shoulder without the use of the chin. The thumbhole is large enough for a violinist’s hand, and even allows for some shifting in lower positions. Notes * I thank John Cherry and James Robinson, curators at the British Museum, for allowing me to examine the citole multiple times, and the team of scientists and conservators working on the citole for allowing me to see their work in progress and to publish some of the results in this article. I am especially indebted to Alice Margerum, for her assistance and for generously sharing her indings with me; her work will appear as “The Distribution, Dispersal and Decline of the ‘Citole’ in the Latin West, circa 1200–1400” (PhD diss., London Metropolitan University, forthcoming) [Dr Margerum’s dissertation is now published. See Margerum 2010 in Bibliography]. 1 British Museum, Department of Prehistory and Europe, 1963, 10-2, 1. The known provenance of this instrument is outlined in Appendix 1. 2 The one article of signiicant length about this instrument is Mary Remnant and Richard Marks, “A Medieval ‘Gittern,’ ” in Music and Civilisation, ed. T. C. Mitchell, British Museum Yearbook 4 (1980): 83–134. The British Museum citole is discussed briely in the following musicological texts: Francis Galpin, Old English Instruments of Music (London: Methuen & Co., 1910), 23; “English Appendix B | 139 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Medieval Gittern,” British Museum Quarterly 29 (1964– 65): 35–36; Emanuel Winternitz, Musical Instruments of the Western World (London: Thames & Hudson, 1966), 47–50; Jeremy Montagu, The World of Medieval and Renaissance Musical Instruments (Newton Abbot: David & Charles, 1976), 30–33; The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 2nd ed., s.v. “Citole,” by Laurence Wright; Carey Fleiner, “Dulcet Tones: Changing a Gittern into a Citole,” British Museum Magazine 53 (Autumn 2005): 45. It is mentioned in these art historical texts: Frederic Grunfeld, “Last of the Gitterns,” The Connoisseur 212 (1982): 97–99; Jonathan Alexander and Paul Binski, eds., Age of Chivalry: Art in Plantagenet England 1200–1400 (London: Royal Academy of Arts in association with Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1987), 426; John Cherry, Medieval Decorative Art (London: Trustees of the British Museum, 1991), 2–9. A conference hosted by the Schola Cantorum and Historisches Museum in Basel in 2005 may be a turning point. It brought together scholars, builders, and players to consider the theme “Citole, Guiterne, Chitarra saracenica? ‘Peripheral’ Plucked Instruments of the Middle Ages: Key Research Questions.” The British Museum citole is unplayable in its current state. Not only is its ingerboard so warped that the strings lie lat against its hump, but parts of the instrument are so fragile that it would be unwise to subject it to tension. The important historical value of the medieval body with all of its later additions dictates that its best role is as a museum piece. The author has created a functional replica of the instrument based on many of the theories discussed in this paper. Rounded-body instruments are categorized as lutes and gitterns. For much of the twentieth century the nomenclature of citoles and gitterns was confused. Laurence Wright matched the correct instrument with its correct name: a gittern has a rounded back and body, like a small lute, while a citole can have a variety of shapes. See “The Medieval Gittern and Citole: A Case of Mistaken Identity,” Galpin Society Journal 30 (1977): 8–41. See also Crawford Young, “Lute, Gittern, and Citole,” in A Performer’s Guide to Medieval Music, ed. Ross Duin (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2000), 355–73. It is only since August 2005 that the citole in the British Museum has been displayed as a citole rather than a gittern. See Appendix 2 for a discussion of citoles in iconography and a list of thumbhole citoles. The combination of citole and iddle occurs frequently in the Queen Mary Psalter of the early fourteenth century (British Library Royal MS 2 B. vii, fols. 3v, 174r, 203r, 282r, 303v). The best evidence for the date of the British Museum citole comes from comparing its decoration to that of other surviving medieval art. The strongest parallels are found in East Anglian art from the early fourteenth century, including the many manuscripts produced there and carvings such as the Winchester Choir Stalls, made by a Norfolk craftsman in 1309. This subject is explored more fully in the author’s master’s thesis: Kathryn Buehler, “Retelling the Story of the English Gittern in the British Museum: An Organological Study, ca. 1300–Present” (master’s thesis, University of Minnesota, 2002). Frederick Crane, Extant Medieval Musical Instruments (Iowa City: University of Iowa Press, 1972), 14–15. The silver pegbox cover is engraved with the Tudor coat of arms and the bear and ragged staf used by Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, Elizabeth’s court favorite. Although no records exist to conirm that the instrument was connected with Elizabeth and Dudley, experts at the British Museum have examined the silverwork and found it to be appropriate for the time. The pegbox suggests an initial conversion into an early three-string violin, which would also have been appropriate for the Tudor court at this time (see Appendix 3). The social history of Elizabeth’s court, into which this instrument could have it, is explored in Buehler, “Retelling the Story of the English Gittern in the British Museum.” John Hawkins, A General History of the Science and Practice of Music (London: T. Payne and Son, 1776), 2:687. Hawkins thought the instrument to be an unusual early violin, and did not realize it was originally a plucked instrument. Galpin, writing in 1910, agreed with Hawkins, but added that if played with a plectrum “it was pleasant to hear”: Old English Instruments, 23. The British Museum took numerous X rays of the instrument in 140 | The British Museum Citole 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 August 2006. I was able to study them in February 2007, but unfortunately they were not ready for publication at the time this article went to print. They will be published in a forthcoming report by the British Museum. The hole is about a third of the way up the back of the instrument, and is in approximately the same place as a soundpost in a violin. It is unknown whether this hole is original, or a later modiication. Some iconographic instruments have curious holes in their side, such as a citole carving on the Collegiate Church in Toro, west portal, Elder 18. The pegbox is a later alteration. See Appendix 3. The electrotype (V&A inventory no. ’69-66) was made for the South Kensington Museum, now the Victoria and Albert Museum, and is currently kept in storage. Many thanks to James Yorke, curator, for allowing me to examine it. The electrotype’s bridge, made from the same material as the electrotype, is a puzzle in itself. At 64 mm wide and 25 mm tall, with an arched top with seven string nicks of various sizes and placement, it is unlike any violin bridge, and of unsuitable proportions for the British Museum citole in its current form. There are no particular marks on the British Museum citole’s current soundboard to indicate that a bridge like this was ever on it for an extended period of time [although a photograph of the instrument from the same time period as the electrotype shows the bridge in place upon the citole, see Victoria and Albert Museum archives, Loan Register MA/31/2, p. 453. It has been suggested that the bridge copied for the electrotype was the original citole bridge, but its highly arched top and the near impossibility that a bridge could have survived with the instrument for centuries after all of the ittings had been replaced override this theory. The bridge was possibly taken from another instrument, such as a lira da braccio. Countess of Warwick, Warwick Castle and its Earls (London: Hutchinson & Co., 1903), 353. Susan La Niece, scientist at the British Museum (personal correspondence, February 2007). Hawkins, General History, 2: 687. Examples of medieval pierced carving backed with gilding can be found on two fourteenth-century carved caskets, pictured in Michael Camille, The Medieval Art of Love (London: Calmann & King, 1998), 67, 107. Many thanks to John Cherry for bringing these to my attention. The detailed engraving appears only in the original 1776 edition; it is reproduced in Remnant and Marks, “A Medieval ‘Gittern,’ ” pl. 75. In the second edition (1853), portraits that had been included within the text of the original edition were relegated to a separate volume. The 1963 reprint of the second edition (American Musicological Society Music Library Association Reprint Series (New York: Dover)) does not include this extra volume of pictures, and contains merely a small, rather inaccurate diagram of the citole. For example, Mary Remnant and Richard Marks, in “A Medieval ‘Gittern,’ ” 97. For a discussion of the pegbox and what it reveals about the transformation into a violin, see Appendix 3. Reproduced in Remnant and Marks, “A Medieval ‘Gittern,’ ” ig. 70. A reproduction of Elder 18 appears as ig. 5 in Pepe Rey, “Cordophones pincés et styles musicaux,” in Instruments à cordes du Moyen Age, ed. Christian Rault (Grâne: Editions Créaphis, 1999), 95–113. The only exception to this is where a few leaves and feet stick out over the banding that deines the bottom of the hunt scenes on either side of the neck (igs. 23 and 24). See, for example, the lira da braccio by Francesco Linarol, 1563, in the National Music Museum, the University of South Dakota (NMM 4203). Conservators at the British Museum re-glued the soundboard to the body in January 2007. Color reproductions can be viewed at www.santuariodisaronno.it/ GFerrari.html. This lucky combination occurs in Toro, Elder 18 on the west portal, where a shallow bend is perceivable in the soundboard. Thanks to Alice Margerum for discovering this. 31 Since the top of the rib line is so clear on the lower bouts, it is extremely unlikely that any other portion of the rib line could have been altered as signiicantly as would be necessary to create a new clear rib line – for example, by the removal of an entire line of banding. Such an alteration would have required a step in the soundboard, which does, in fact, occur on the violeta of Saint Caterina de’Vigri and is depicted on a citole carving in Beverley Minster, but which does not comply with the other evidence on the British Museum citole. For this reason, I believe the step between rib line and neck on the citole to be original. For a discussion of instruments with double-level soundboards, see Jeremy Montagu, Minstrels and Angels (Berkeley, CA: Fallen Leaf Press, 1998), 29–30, 43. 32 Theoretically, it would be possible to drill holes through the back of the ingerboard and thread gut frets through these holes. There is no evidence for this, however. 33 Alice Margerum has proposed that the frequent depictions of citole frets as double lines could represent the use of a Pythagorean tuning of 24 pitches per octave (correspondence, March 2007). 34 A gittern near this citole has clearly depicted tied gut frets. Many thanks to Alice Margerum for bringing this to my attention. 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 Crawford Young briely addresses issues of frets and tuning of medieval plucked instruments in “Lute, Gittern, and Citole.” Hawkins, General History, 2: 687. Ibid. Charles Burney, A General History of Music from the Earliest Stages to the Present (London: printed for the author, 1776–89), 3: 15. The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 2nd ed., s.v. “Bremner, Robert,” by David Johnson. An Illustrated Catalogue of the Music Loan Exhibition held at Fishmongers’ Hall, June and July 1904 (London: Novello, 1909), 153. The 1806 inventory lists a “Violin & Case” in the upper room of the Garden Tower (Warwickshire County Record Oice, CR 1886/TN1053). An annotated copy of this inventory from 1809 further describes the instrument (in the same room) as “Queen Elizabeth’s Violin” (Warwickshire County Record Oice, CR 1886, Box 466). Object ile, British Museum, Department of Prehistory and Europe, 1963, 10-2, 1. For example, the Venus rebec in Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Sammlung alter Musikinstrumente (Inv. No. 433) [see Chapter 8, this volume, Pl. 6]. Appendix B | 141 Glossary Instrument types Bandora: a metal-strung guitar with a festooned outline invented by John Rose in the 16th century. Cetera: a word used in medieval Italy to identify a plucked stringed instrument. Cetere are spade-shaped, lat backed instruments with wide wooden frets found in Italian iconography. They are often confused with citoles; see Chapter 2 and Chapter 10, this volume. Cetula: in the 1480s, Tinctoris described a cetula as a wire-strung, fretted plucked instrument invented by the Italians. According to Tinctoris, it was used by rustics to accompany songs and dances. Citole: a plucked chordophone popular c. 1200–1400 and characterized by a non-oval body outline. It is argued in this volume that features such as tapering body thickness and a deep neck with thumbhole are also deining features of a citole. Cittern: a metal-strung plucked instrument of the Renaissance. The cittern has a lat back, with a slightly tapered body, and a long neck with frets. Several 16th- and 17th-century citterns survive. Gittern: a pear-shaped plucked chordophone of the Middle Ages. There are two extant gitterns, one made by Hans Ott in the mid-15th century (Wartburg Stiftung, KH 50) and the other recovered in an archaeological dig in Poland (Elblag Museum of Archaeology and History, EM/IV/1561). Harp: in the Middle Ages, the harp was a small, triangular instrument held in the lap with roughly a dozen strings. The harp is one of the most frequently depicted medieval instruments. Several medieval harps and partial harps survive, with uncertain provenance. Lira da braccio: a bowed stringed instrument of the Renaissance used to accompany poetry. It generally had seven strings, two of which were drone strings running parallel to the ingerboard. Several instruments from the 16th century survive. Lute: the most common plucked stringed instrument of the Renaissance, the medieval lute was present but less popular. It is a descendent of the Middle Eastern ‘ūd, and has a rounded body constructed of many staves. Mandora: misidentiied by Galpin to be a kind of medieval plucked instrument, it is in fact a plucked instrument of the 16th century. It is also the name by which a small surviving monoxyle instrument (built from a single piece of wood, see below) in the Metropolitan Museum of Art is known (see Chapter 8, Pls 4–5, and Chapter 10, Pl. 13). Orpharion: a type of bandora; a metal-strung plucked instrument invented by John Rose and popular in the 142 | The British Museum Citole 16th and 17th centuries. Two instruments survive, one of which was made by John Rose in 1580 and inlaid with the words cymbalum decachordon (Helmingham Hall, Sufolk). The other, made by Francis Palmer in 1617, is part of the Claudius Collection in Copenhagen (CL 139). Fret: a raised bar over the ingerboard that is perpendicular to the string length. Frets serve to ix the pitch of a note as well as brighten the sound. They can be made from gut strings tied around the ingerboard and neck or wooden or metal bars ixed into the ingerboard. Psaltery: a zither-type instrument. Like a harp, it has individual notes for each string, but the strings are oriented to lie on the same plane as the soundboard. Monochord: a mathematical instrument used to calculate the relationship between string length and pitch. Division points along a monochord’s single string show the placement of notes, much the same as frets. Rebec: a pear-shaped bowed instrument of the Middle Ages, often used for dance music. Rebecchino: the name given to a small monoxyle instrument in the Vienna Kunsthistorisches Museum which dates from the 15th century (Chapter 8, Pl. 6). Vielle: a medieval French word for iddle, used generically to refer to bowed stringed instruments with a distinct corner between the neck and body joint. Viol: a generic word for a stringed instrument, generally considered to be bowed and held downwards in the lap. In the Renaissance, viol or viola da gamba referred to a fretted instrument held in the lap and played by amateurs. Violeta: the name by which a small iddle belonging to St Caterina de’Vigri is known. The instrument dates from the mid-15th century. Violin: generally thought to have been invented c. 1500 at the court of Isabella d’Este, the violin was considered a professional instrument and used to accompany dancing. Monoxyle: a term used to describe instruments in which their body, neck, sides and head are carved from a single piece of wood, as opposed to being constructed from separate pieces of wood. Nut: a small piece of material at the top of the ingerboard which holds the strings in alignment and marks one end of the vibrating length. Pegbox: the area at the top of the neck to which the pegs attach. A pegbox has two walls through which pegs pass laterally. Some instruments have peg discs, a solid mount through which pegs pass vertically, with their heads either towards the front of the instrument (‘frontal’ or ‘anterior’), or the back of the instrument (‘posterior’). Ribs: the strips of wood which create the sides of an instrument, connecting the front to the back. Tailpiece: a means of attaching the strings to the bottom of the instrument. The tailpiece is suspended between the strings after they pass over the bridge, and a loop of gut which is ixed to a button on the bottom of the instrument. Instrument terminology Bout: a curve on the outline of an instrument. The classic violin has three bouts: the upper bouts (or shoulders), C bouts (the incurves at the waist of the instrument where the bow travels) and lower bouts. Bridge: a small piece of wood holding the strings away from the soundboard, aligning the strings and marking one end of their vibrating length. On violin-type instruments, the bridge is held in place by tension and the strings are aixed to a tailpiece. On lute-type instruments, the bridge is glued to the soundboard and the strings are aixed to the bridge, without use of a tailpiece. Chordophone: one of four classiications of musical instruments, in which sound is created by vibrating strings. Drone: a continuous note achieved by bowing or plucking a string repeatedly, often used to underlay a vocal piece or dance tune. Trefoil: a three-lobed inial, commonly ornamenting citoles in English and French iconography. Medieval instrumentalists Jongleur: a travelling entertainer of many talents. A jongleur’s skillset could include juggling, storytelling, singing and playing an instrument, acrobatics, training of dancing bears, among others. Minstrel: an entertainer with a specialty in music and instruments. Some minstrels were attached to speciic courts while others were itinerant. Troubadour: a type of poet/composer originating from southern France. Troubadours were often aristocrats, or well connected to an aristocratic court. While they may have occasionally performed their own music, generally performance was left to jongleurs and minstrels. Fingerboard: a narrow piece of wood attached to the neck on which ingers depress the strings to change the pitch of the note. Glossary | 143 Contributors Kathryn Buehler-McWilliams is a teacher, instrument maker and scholar. She feels privileged to have been a part of the British Museum citole’s story these past 15 years, contributing to its conservation, the symposium and this publication. Caroline Cartwright is a Senior Scientist at the British Museum specialising in the identiication of wood, ibres and other plant remains from around the world. Chris Egerton is a stringed-instrument conservator in private practice. Carey Fleiner is Senior Lecturer in Classical and Early Medieval History and Programme Leader in Classical Studies at the University of Winchester. Her areas of research include the Julio-Claudians, Roman history in ilm and television and the Kinks. Ann Marie Glasscock is a decorative arts and design historian. She received her MLitt from Christie’s Education, London, in 2006 with her thesis ‘Music and its social history in the courts of Western Europe’. She is currently pursuing her PhD. Benjamin Hebbert has more than 15 years of experience as an authority on stringed instruments. Since training as an instrument maker in the 1990s, he has worked for a variety of violin shops and auction houses, museums and teaching establishments including a period as European Specialist Head of Sale at Christie’s. Philip Kevin is a conservator of organic artefacts at the British Museum. John Koster was Conservator, Professor of Music and Curator of Keyboard Instruments at the National Music Museum, University of South Dakota, from 1991 until his retirement in 2015. Author of numerous organological studies, he previously held a fellowship at the Metropolitan Museum in New York and worked at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Susan La Niece, FSA, is the senior metallurgist at the British Museum and has published on subjects including metalworking in medieval Europe and the Middle East, niello, gilding, silvering and decorative patination. Phillip Lindley is Professor of History of Art at the University of Leicester. His books on medieval sculpture in Britain include Gothic to Renaissance: Essays on Sculpture in England (1995); Image and Idol: Medieval Sculpture, co-authored with Richard Deacon (2001); and Tomb Destruction and Scholarship: Medieval Monuments in Early Modern England (2007). Alice C. Margerum researches and builds medieval stringed instruments. Her writings include ‘Situating the citole: circa 1200–1400’ (PhD 2010) and co-authoring ‘citole’ in The Grove Dictionary of Musical Instruments (2014). Her 144 | The British Museum Citole woodworking includes, but is not limited to, beautifully carved reconstructions of medieval harps. Mauricio Molina holds a PhD in musicology from the City University of New York Graduate Center. He is the director of the International Course on Medieval Music Performance of Besalú, and professor at the Conservatory of Girona and at the IES University Abroad Program in Barcelona. Richard Rastall is Emeritus Professor of Historical Musicology at Leeds University, and a Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries. He is the author of works on minstrelsy, musical notation and music in early drama, and the editor of medieval and early Stuart sources. James Robinson is Director at the Burrell Collection, Glasgow. He was formerly Keeper of Art and Design at National Museums Scotland and senior curator of the late medieval European collections at the British Museum. Naomi Speakman is the curator for late medieval European collections at the British Museum. Her current research interests are gothic ivory carving, late medieval metalwork and the history of collecting. She is currently undertaking a PhD at the Courtauld Institute of Art on the British Museum’s Gothic Ivory collection. Andrew Taylor is Professor of English at the University of Ottawa. His publications include The Songs and Travels of a Tudor Minstrel: Richard Sheale of Tamworth and Textual Situations: Three Medieval Manuscripts and their Readers. Crawford Young has pursued research on medieval chordophones over four decades. He teaches practical and theoretical subjects concerning late medieval and early Renaissance music at the Schola Cantorum in Basel. Known mainly as a lutenist, he bought his irst citole in 1978 after seeing the instrument at the British Museum. Contributors | 145 Bibliography 146 | The British Museum Citole Abbott, D. and Segerman, E. 1974. ‘Strings in the 16th and 17th centuries’, Galpin Society Journal 27, 48–73. Abbott, D. and Segerman, E. 1975. ‘The cittern in England before 1700’, The Lute Society Journal, vol. 27, 24–51. Abbot, H. 2011. ‘Keith Richards school of public relations’, Truehoop, published at http://espn.go.com/blog/truehoop/post/_/id/31319/ the-keith-richards-school-of-public-relations (accessed 24 July 2014). 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Bibliography | 151 Index Page numbers in bold denote illustrations Aegidius de Zamora, Johannes, 89 Alfonso X (Alfonso the Wise), 24–5, 33, 52 alterations see modiications; organological study Anselmi, Giorgio, 104 Apocalypse imagery, 13, 24, 26, 30, 31, 98, 98, 99–100, 105 Aristotle, 19, 26, 27, 51, 55 Arnault, Henry, 85, 90 Assisi, 30, 98, 136 back see under British Museum citole, elements backs, rounded form, 94, 95, 100, 112 bandora, 65, 76, 139 Bartholomaeus Anglicus, 26, 88 Basil of Caesarea, 55, 56 bass bar, xix, 61, 71, 121 Bassano family, 61, 65, 65–6, 66, 67, 67 citole attribution, 72 festooned violins attributed to, 66–8, 70, 71, 71 Bernard of Chartres, 56 Beverley Minster, 9, 9, 28 body see under British Museum citole, elements Boethius, 51, 55, 89, 96–7 Books of Hours, 10, 40, 106, 107 boxwood, 1, 61, 66, 111, 112, 113, 114, 114, 120, 121, 123, 126 bridge see under British Museum citole, elements bridges from Germanic lyres, 87 British Museum citole as 16th-century violin, 61–72, 74, 123 bass bar, xix, 61, 71, 121 elements, 61–2 ittings and set-up, 62, 69–70 in context of violin history, 62–8, 73–4 pegbox, 70, 138–9 silverwork, 61–2, 73 soundboard, 70–1 soundholes, 71 wooden pins inserted into belly, 70–1 chronology, 70, 71–2, 123, 138–9 conservation see conservation decorative sculpture see decorative sculpture description, 126–7 electrotype copy, vi, 1, 119, 123, 128, 128–9, 137 elements/parts see British Museum citole, elements engraving of, v, vi, 120–1 history, v–vii, 73–8 misidentiication, v–vi, 15–16, 93 modiications, 121–3, 127–36 organological study see organological study provenance Bassano attribution, 72 carving, 39 Elizabeth I, question of ownership, 73–8 goldsmith’s mark, 68 literary references and exhibitions, v–vii, 137 patrons, 41 reconstructed sound, 39, 104 regional morphological traits, relationship to 30–2 body outline, 32 original appearance, 32 original parts, 30 parts as typical, 33 pegs, 31 soundboard, 32 trefoil shape, 31–2 tuning, 89–91 see also citoles British Museum citole, elements back, xi, xviii, 1, 6, 7, 114, 127, 127 inner false back, xix, 61, 117, 118, 119, 123 bass bar, xix, 71, 121 152 | The British Museum Citole body bouts, 22, 126 conservation, 119–20, 121, 126 tapering, 1, 32, 125 ‘vase-shape’, 32 bridge conservation, 120 electrotype copy, 128 organological study, 135, 136 placement, 32, 89 ingerboard, 32, 61, 62, 117–18 additional wedge, 69, 118, 120, 122, 123 conservation, 117–20 frets, 104–5, 136 modiications, 121, 122 organological study, 130, 131–2, 135, 136 headstock, 121 modiications, 118, 121–3 neck, xi–xiii, xviii, 74, 112, 126–7 conservation, 117–18, 119 decoration, 3–4, 114, 119 modiications, 121–3, 135 organological study, 130, 132, 135–6, 137 thumbhole, xi, 3, 93, 100–1, 122, 126 pegbox, 130, 139 conservation, 116, 120 modiications, 70, 121, 122 organological study, 130–2, 138–9 silver cover and inscription, 68, 112, 122 transformation from citole to violin, 138–9 pegs, xviii, 69, 70, 120 conservation, 116–20, 117, 127 organological study, 130–1, 136 plugged holes for original pegs, 2, 3, 121, 138–9 pins and cloth coverings, 70–1 purling, 61, 69, 70, 70 rib line, 132–6 shoulder panels, 1, 5, 5, 6, 114, 128–9, 132, 134 silverwork, 61–2, 68–9, 73, 112 pegbox cover inscription, 73, 77 soundboard, 32 conservation, 116–23 organological study, 70–1, 132–5 pre-violin conversion, 32 soundholes, 71 strings conservation, 116, 119, 121 length, 89–90 pre-violin conversion, 32, 90 tailpiece, 32, 61–2, 70, 72, 126, 143 attachment, 68, 112, 116, 118, 118, 120–1 conservation, 120–1, 121 decoration, 69–70, 71, 76 modiications, 121, 123 organological study, 135–6 thumbhole, xi, 3, 30–1, 93, 100–1, 122, 126 performance practice, 126 trefoil, xvii, 6, 8, 33, 74, 118 organological study, 129, 129, 135, 136, 137, 139 X-radiograph and modiications, 122, 123, 129, 132 waist, 127, 132, 133, 134 washer to lion’s head button, xvii, 68, 69, 112 ‘British Museum Citole: New Perspectives’, symposium, vii, 39 Brussels MS 21069, 16, 19, 33, 95, 100, 101 Burgos Cathedral, 31, 31, 105 Burney, Charles, v, 123, 137 Cantigas de Santa Maria, 24–5, 34, 107 carvings, architectural see church carvings and art carvings on British Museum citole see decorative sculpture Cassiodorus of Seville, 99 Cerone de Bergamo, Pedro, 16, 22 cetera, 21, 30, 98, 98, 101 cetula, 22, 30, 87, 89 Chaucer, Geofrey, 28–9, 52, 54, 57 chordophones, 15, 16, 19, 20, 22–3, 24, 29, 30, 93–101, 100 heritage, identity and terminology, 93–101 see also individual instrument names church attitude to music, 56–7 church carvings and art Apocalypse imagery, 98, 99 English, 8–11, 11, 22, 27–8, 30, 107, 132, 138 French, 25, 26, 27, 29, 33, 131 German, 29, 131 Iberian, 24, 25 Italian, 23, 29–30 ‘marginal’ sculptural decoration, 9–10 at Prague, 98 Spanish, 22, 25, 30, 31, 31, 105, 107 see also manuscripts cithara, 21, 25, 26, 40, 52, 55, 87, 88, 94, 96, 97, 99, 100 citole see British Museum citole; citoles citolers angels, 11, 21, 25, 26–8, 29, 30, 34, 94 in art and literature (1175–1400), 24–8 in English courts, 41, 45, 46–50 chronology, 50 Ivo Vala, 46, 47, 48–9 Janyn the citoler, 46, 47, 113 John the citoler, 49 records and source references, 47–8 Richardyn, citoler, 47, 49 Thomas Citoler, 47, 48, 49, 50 Thomas Dynys, 46, 48, 49 female, 27, 33 in poetry, 43 in Iberian courts, 24–5, 52, 105 reputation and behaviour, 28, 33–4, 52 St Emilian the Cowled, 20–1 see also musicians; performance practice citoles, 125 in art and literature (c. 1175–1400), 23–32 art in southern France and Aquitaine and Occitan texts, 25–6 Castilian and Galician-Portuguese texts, 24–5 English art and Anglo-Norman and English texts, 22, 27–9 geographical distribution, 24, 32–3 German art and texts, 29 Italian art and texts, 29–30 langue d’oïl texts, 26 Latin texts, 23–4 northern French and Flemish art, 26–7 regional morphological traits, 30–2 Spain 22 summary, 32–4 church references see church carvings and art cloth coverings, 70–1 courtly associations, 25, 39–43, 45–50, 95 ‘free-neck’ or ‘guitar-iddle’ terms, 93, 99–101 situla, 100 and sources relating to gitterns, 94–9 thumbhole identiication, 100–1 manuscript references see manuscripts medieval texts and illustrations, 19–21 modern confusion relating to, 15–19, 93–4 terminology see terminology, revision of performance practice see performance practice of citoles social status of, 28, 33 Islamic dislike of, 106 strings see stringing, theories of thumbhole and simple-necked, 138 tuning see tuning Wright’s deinition, 21–2 Young’s deinition, 22–3, 101 see also British Museum citole Index | 153 cittern, 16, 18, 33, 58, 68–9, 84, 87, 89, 89, 90, 98, 108 clavichord, 88 Cologne Cathedral, 29, 29, 31, 33 conservation assessment of British Museum citole prior to restoration, 116–18 ethical consideration for restoration, 114, 116 justiication, 118–19 interpreting repairs and modiications, 120–3 treatment, 119–21 pegs, bridge and top nut, 120 restringing, 121 surfaces, 119–20 tailpiece and ixing, 120–1 X-ray techniques, 112 court records, 45–50, 52, 95 d’Andrea, Giovanni, 40, 62, 82, 82 dancing, 26, 29, 34, 57, 58, 74, 105, 106–7 Dante, 21, 30 de Berceo, Gonzalo, 20, 21 de Brie, Jehan, 87 de Coussemaker, Edmond, 16, 19 de Garlandia, Johannes, 23 de Ghillalde, Joán García, 105 de Grocheio, Johannes, 56, 58, 94–5, 97, 98, 107–8 de Langtoft, Pierre, 42 de Machaut, Guillaume, 17, 18, 27, 54, 56, 95, 97 de Margival, Nicole, 17, 107 de Muris, Johannes, 98 de Reinosa, Rodrigo, 107 Dean Castle, festooned violin (A54), 66–7, 67, 68, 68, 71 ‘Decorated Style’, 1, 5, 8 decorative sculpture on the citole, 1–13 arrangements and subjects of reliefs, 2–8 borders, 5, 7 dragon (wyvern), 2–3, 6, 31, 114, 116, 127, 131 foliage, 3 half-man, half-bird hybrid, 6, 7, 116 hunting scenes, 3–4, 13, 39, 115 ‘Labours of the Month’, 6, 39, 79, 113 lateral shoulder panels, 1, 5 left-hand side, 2, 2 man shooting arrow, 6, 6, 115 owl, 3, 114, 129, 129–30 right-hand side, 8 swine herd and hogs, 5, 5, 115 trefoil terminal, 8 artistic analysis and comparisons, 8–13, 79–83 conservation treatment, 119 geographic context, 11 gilt, 3, 114, 129 images of, x–xviii organological study, 128–9, 132 original visual context, 1–2, 39–41 social context, 113–14 visual comparisons, 8–13 church decoration, 9–10 foliage curvilinear style (13th–14th centuries), 8 manuscript illumination, 10–13 Desiderio tuo ili, 85–6, 87 dragon (wyvern), 2–3, 6, 31, 114, 127, 131 and comparisons, 9–11, 12 drones, 82, 106, 109 Dudley, Robert, Earl of Leicester, v, 61, 68, 72, 73–8, 112, 113, 130, 139 Edinburgh University Collection of Historic Musical Instruments EUCHMI 329 festooned violin, 66, 66–7, 68, 70, 71 EUCHMI 5851 festooned violin, 66, 67, 67, 70 Edward I, 45, 46, 50 Edward II, 41, 45, 46 Edward III, 48, 50 Eleanor of Castile, 33, 113 electrotype, vi, 1, 119, 123, 128, 128–9, 137 154 | The British Museum Citole Elizabeth I, v, vi, 61–2, 63, 65, 68, 69, 71, 73–8, 112, 113, 121, 126, 130, 137, 139 Ely Cathedral, 10, 10 engraving see under British Museum citole, engraving of ensemble performance, 49–50, 82, 106, 109 Évreux Cathedral, 27, 27, 31, 32 fabliaux, 27, 52, 54 al-Fārābī, 104, 106 inancial records of royal households, 45–50 ingerboard see under British Museum citole, elements frets, 30, 32, 93, 96, 97, 98, 104–5, 109, 126, 136 Fugger, Jakob, 66 Galician-Portuguese manuscripts, 18, 24, 25, 32 Galileo, 85–6, 87 Galpin, Francis, vi, 15–16, 61, 93, 94, 94 Gelmirez Palace, Santiago de Compostela, 24, 30–1, 107 gitterns, 50, 51–2, 81, 93, 113, 142 ‘free-neck’ or ‘guitar iddle’ description, 93, 99, 101 manuscripts and records, gittern-related references, 34, 94–101 Berkeley, MS 744, 95, 96–7, 97 Bibliothèque nationale, MS 7378A, 98, 98 Evrart de Conty, Échecs amoureux, 17, 95, 96 French court records and Machaut, 95–6 Heinrich Eger von Kalkar, Cantuagium, 95, 97 Jean Corbechon, De proprietatibus rerum, 95, 97 Johannes de Grocheio, De musica, 94–5 Juan Ruiz, Libro de buen amor, 95, 96 as member of lute family, 93 sources implying a Moorish or Latin type, 34, 94–101 Berkeley MS 744, 96–7 Bibliothèque nationale, MS 7378A, 98, 98 Evrart de Conty, Échecs amoureux, 96 French court records and Machaut, 95–6 Heinrich Eger von Kalkar, Cantuagium, 97 Jean Corbechon, De proprietatibus rerum, 97 Johannes de Grocheio, De musica, 94–5 Juan Ruiz, Libro de buen amor, 96 Gower, John, 17, 28–9, 33, 41, 42–3 ‘guitar-iddle’, 93, 94 guitarra latina and guitarra morisca 16, 34, 93–101 harps, 43, 49, 50, 54, 85, 87, 88, 90, 94, 97 Hawkins, John, v, 15, 73, 121, 122, 123, 127, 129, 137 Hoefnagel, Joris, 64 Holbein, Hans, 63, 63 Iberian manuscripts and depictions, 23, 24–5 Ikhwān al-Safā, 86 De institutione musica (Boethius), 51, 55, 89, 96–7 instrument makers, 84–5 Arnault, Henry, 85, 90 Bassano see Bassano family decorative elements, 69 London, 61, 64–6 origins of tradition, 84, 88 Islamic and Chinese, 86 Rose, John, 64–5, 65, 69, 70–1, 76, 139 stringing see stringing, theory of intonation, 104–5 Isidore of Seville, 100 Islamic instrument makers and musicians, 86, 104, 106 Jerome of Moravia, 97, 106 John of Salisbury, 56–7 jongleur, 27, 39, 40, 42, 43, 48, 51, 52–3, 105 Karlstejn Castle (Prague), 98, 99 King David and musicians, 12, 18, 23, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 34, 40, 53 Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna, 82, 112 Lambertus, 18, 33, 104–5 Las Huelgas Manuscript, 96 Latini, Brunetto, 17, 18, 19–20, 21, 27, 28, 30 li Muisis, Gilles, 27, 33, 41, 105, 107, 109 Libro de buen amor 15, 16, 17, 25, 95, 96, 106, 107–8 Lincoln Cathedral, 9, 22, 23, 32, 132, 138 lion’s head button, xvii, 32, 62, 68, 73, 112, 126, 135 lira, 19, 87, 94–5 lira da braccio, 62, 82, 82, 83, 132 lutes, 85, 90, 106, 142 Lydgate, John, 27 Lyngwode, William, 10, 13 lyres, 84–5, 86 mandora, 40, 80–1, 81, 94, 112, 142 manuscripts, Anglo-Norman, 17 Arundel MS 83 (British Library), 53, 54, 94 Blanchelour et Florence, 17, 28, 41–2 Books of Hours, 10, 40, 106, 107 Brussels MS 21069, 16, 19, 33, 95, 100, 101 Cancioneiro da Ajuda, 24–5 Cantigas de Santa Maria, 24–5, 34, 96, 107 Castilian, 17 charter granting Aquitaine to Edward the Black Prince, 31 Le clef d’amors, 17, 27, 41 Confessio Amantis, 17, 28, 41–2 Daurel et Beton, 16, 18, 26 Dictionarius, 18, 23, 26, 33 Dit de la panthère d’amours, 107 English, 17, 27–9, 54, 107 Erec et Enide, 16, 17 La estoria de San Millán, 20–1 fabliaux, 23, 27, 52, 54 Fadet joglar, 18, 21, 26 Flamenca, 18, 26, 40 Fouke Fitz Warin, 17, 28 French, 17, 26, 107 Galician-Portuguese, 18 geographic distribution, 24 grotesque imagery, 40, 53, 54, 57 Italian, 18, 30 Latin, 18, 23–4, 106 li Muisis, Gilles, 27, 33, 41, 105, 107, 109 Libro de buen amor 15, 16, 17, 25, 95, 96, 106, 107–8 literary and pictorial comparisons (c. 1175–1400), 23–32, 40 Li livres dou tresor, 17, 18, 19, 19–20, 21, 28, 30 Morant und Galie, 17, 29 Musica instrumentalis, 26 northern French and Flemish, 16, 26–7 Occitan, 18, 21, 40 performance practice insights from, 104–5 De planctu naturae, 18, 19 La prise d’Alexandrie, 17, 27, 95 De proprietatibus rerum, 18, 26, 88, 95, 97 Le remède de fortune, 17, 18, 27, 95 Revelation 5:8, 99, 100 social insights from, 52, 53, 53 Summa Musice, 100, 106 Tablas de San Millán, 20, 21 Le tournoi de Chauvency, 17, 31 vernacular texts, 23 see also church carvings and art; Psalters Mersenne, Marin, 85, 86, 87, 89 Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 65, 81, 100, 112 minstrels, 25, 26, 27, 29, 33–4, 41, 46–7, 49, 50, 52–3, 95, 143 modiications, 121–3; see also organological study monochord, 23, 87, 96–7, 105 morin khuur, 86 Morley, Thomas, 89 De musica (Johannes de Grocheio) 58, 94–5, 98, 107–8 musicians Boethius’ descriptions, 55 at French courts, 94–5 Islamic, 86, 106 jongleur, 27, 39, 40, 42, 43, 48, 51, 52–3, 105 minstrels, 25, 26, 27, 29, 33–4, 41, 46–7, 49, 50, 52–3, 95 reputation and hierarchy, 51–9 practising polyphony, 56–7 Spanish pipe and string drum player, 108 at Tudor court, 73–4 see also citolers Muslim traditions see Islamic instrument makers and musicians neck see under British Museum citole, elements necks deining instrument types, 21–3, 24, 33, 66, 67, 125 ‘free-neck’ or ‘guitar-iddle’ terms, 93–4, 98–101 simple-necked citoles, 138 thumbhole type, 30–1, 138 Norwich Cathedral, 10, 11, 11, 30, 31, 107, 126, 131 Occitan manuscripts, 16, 18, 21, 26, 40 Oresme, Nicole, 17, 27, 95 organological study, 125–39 alterations, 130–5 rib-line and soundboard, 134–6 damage and repairs, 127–30 overall description of the British Museum citole, 125–7 see also modiications orpharion, 65, 76, 89, 139 Page, Christopher, 87, 100, 106 Pamplona Cathedral, 25, 25, 30, 31 Parma Baptistery, 23, 29–30, 136, 138 pegbox see under British Museum citole, elements pegboxes deining instrument types, 22, 31, 81, 82, 94 sickle-shaped (gittern type), 94, 98, 100, 113 pegs see under British Museum citole, elements performance practice of citoles accompanying singers, 27, 34 aural perception, 28 ‘clapper of the mill’ association, 108 citole as monochord substitute, 105 courtly, 27, 49–50, 107 dance music and rhythm, 26, 29, 34, 57, 58, 74, 105, 106–7 drones, 82, 106, 109 ensemble, 49–50, 82, 106, 109 indicative of social status, 28, 33–4 intonation, 104–5 plectra and plucking, 32, 34, 49–50, 105 secular and sacred, 11 sound projection, 39, 104 performance environments, 105–6 sources referring to, 23 literary, 105–6 visual, 104–5, 107 strumming, 106 thumbhole technique, 126 tone, 105 see also citolers performers see citolers; musicians Peter the Chanter, 57 Peterborough Psalter, 11–13, 12 pins and cloth coverings, 70–1 Plato, 55 plectra and plucking, 32, 34, 49–50, 105 polyphony, 52, 54, 55, 56, 57 Praetorius, Michael, 63, 63, 88, 88–90, 121 Psalters, 10–11, 40 De Lisle Psalter, 101, 137, 138 Luttrell Psalter, 11 Metz Psalter, 17, 26 Peterborough Psalter, 11–13, 12 Queen Mary Psalter, 30, 53, 53, 107 Stuttgart Psalter, 23 Tickhill Psalter, 28, 101, 107, 137, 138 see also manuscripts Index | 155 psaltery, 50, 53, 54, 94, 97 purling, 61, 69, 70, 70 rebec, 51, 54 rebecchino, 40, 81–2, 82, 83 Rimbault, 16 Rose, John, 64–5, 65, 69, 70–1, 76, 139 royal inancial records, 45–50, 95–6 Ruinus, 57 Ruiz, Juan, 17, 95, 96, 100, 106–7 St Augustine, 55, 56 St Emilian, 18, 20–1 shoulder panels, 1, 5, 5, 6, 128–9, 132, 134 silverwork see under British Museum citole, elements singing, 27, 34 situla 100 social status of musicians, 51–9 Boethius’ descriptions, 55 citolers, 28, 33–4, 106 practising polyphony, 56–7 Soriano Fuertes, Mariano, 15, 16 sound projection, 39, 104–6 soundboard see under British Museum citole, elements Southwell Minster, 8, 9 Strasbourg Cathedral, 29, 31, 131, 131, 138 stringing, theories of, 84–91 grossitudo, 85–6 materials and tuning gut 32, 86–7, 89, 90, 100, 101, 116, 119, 121, 136 horsehair 86, 87 metal 86, 87–9, silk 84, 86–7, 90, 100 Nuremberg gauges, 88–9 plectrum use, 32, 34, 49–50, 105 Pythagorean theory, 85, 87, 96, 105 tension, 86 strings see under British Museum citole, elements Summa Musice, 100, 106 Tablas de San Millán, 20, 21 tailpiece see under British Museum citole, elements tapered bodies deining instrument types, 22, 30–1, 31, 125 tapered body of British Museum citole see under British Museum citole, elements: body tenor recorder, 65, 66 terminology, revision of, 93–101 citole identiication, 94 ‘free-neck gitterns’ or ‘guitar-iddles’, 93, 99–101 situla, 100 156 | The British Museum Citole Galpin’s confusion between ‘gittern’ and ‘citole’, 93 gittern types, moresche and latine, 34, 93–7 Berkeley, MS 744, 96–7 Bibliothèque nationale, MS 7378A, 98, 98 Evrart de Conty, Échecs amoureux, 17, 95, 96 French court records and Machaut, 95–6 Heinrich Eger von Kalkar, Cantuagium, 97 Jean Corbechon, De proprietatibus rerum, 97 Johannes de Grocheio, De musica, 94–5 Juan Ruiz, Libro de buen amor, 96 thumbhole see under British Museum citole, elements thumbhole citoles, references, 137–8 Tinctoris, Johannes, 22, 30, 87, 89, 90, 100 tone, 105 Topographia Hibernica, 88 Le tournoi de Chauvency, 31 trefoil see under British Museum citole, elements tuning of the British Museum citole, 89–90 drones, 106 metal strings, 87–9, 90–1 Pythagorean scales, 85, 105 silk and gut strings, 86–7, 89 tuning pins, 31 ‘ūd, 86, 90 Venus rebecchino, 81–2, 82 ‘vial’ or ‘phial’, 100 vielle, 16, 51, 53, 93, 94, 96, 97, 98, 100, 104, 106–7, 109, 143 violeta, 112 violins early history, 62, 73–4 at Elizabethan court, 74 festooned, 61, 62–9 viols, 31, 65, 65, 69, 73, 143 Virchi, Girolamo, 68–9 virginals, 71 De vulgari eloquentia, 21, 30 Warwick collection, v–vi, 137 washer to lion’s head button, xvii, 68, 69 Wincester Cathedral, 10, 10, 11 wind instruments, 65–6 Wright, Laurence, 16, 19, 21, 28, 34, 41, 42, 52, 93, 94, 97, 111–12 York Minster, 8–9, 9 Zitterlein, 88, 88–9, 90

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Li autres la citole mainne: Towards a Reconstruction of the Citole’s Performance Practice

Li autres la citole mainne: Towards a Reconstruction of the Citole’s Performance Practice

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